Ci'' 



/ 



SALAD FOE THE SOLITARY 



AND THE SOCIAL 



By FREDERICK SAUNDERS 

author op 
'Mosaics," "Festival op Soxg," and "Evenings with the Sacred Poets." 



ILLXJSTRATED WITH 

Fifty-two Original Designs by Eminent Annerican Artists 



POPULAR EDITION 



R' 




NEW YORK 

THOMAS WPIITTAKER 

3 & 3 Bible House 

1883 









Copyright, 1871, 
By De Witt C. Lent & Company. 

CopjTight, 1883, 
By Thomas Whittaker. 



f 



^>^ 



^? 



PUBLISHER'S PEEFATORY NOTE. 



The success which this work has already attained, and the 
place it has secured for itself in English literature, have in- 
duced the Publisher to issue this improved edition, in the hoj)e 
that it Avill meet with the same general welcome accorded to 
the previous editions. 



THE INGREDIENTS. 



PAGE 

Pretjminary Chat 9 

Dietetics 13 

The Talkative and the Tacitubn 37 

Citations prom the Cemeteries ------- 55 

A Monologue on Matrimony --.-----79 

Curious and Costly Books 105 

Something about Nothing 125 

Sports and Pastimes .----.-.- 135 

Book Craft ----- 151 

Last Words op the Illustrious ------- 189 

The Mysteries op Medicine 199 

Talk about Trees -... 237 

The Modern Moloch 249 

Infelicities op Authorcrapt .---... 275 

The Toilette and its Devotees ------- 291 

The Selfish and the Social ..----. 325 

The Cycle op the Seasons .-.---.- 343 

Pastimes of the Pen ---------- 369 

Pulpit Peculiarities ---.------ 385 

The Shrines op Genius ---- 407 

The Humors of Law 423 

Facts and Fancies about Flowers 441 

Larcenies op Literature -... 46I 

The Mute Creation 479 

Sleep and its Mysteries - ..----.- 501 

A Puff 4.T Parting --..---.--- 519 



THE PLATES. 



The Bards 

A Baronial Banquet " 

The Glorious Sirloin " 

The Talkative and Taciturn.. WMte 

The Last Word Waud 

Stoke-Pogeis Church Fredericks 

The Epitaph 

Hymen's Procession 

The Pleasures op Matrimony. 

Missals and Books 

The Monk in his Cell 

The Disappointed Gourmand. . 

Minerva Crowning Genius 

Falconry in the Olden Time. 

Chivalry 

Guttenberg's First Proof 

Tke Early Printer " 

Psyche Waud 

The Dying Hero " 

A Case for the Doctors " 



ABTIST. PAGH 

Fredericks (Title.) 



Nasi 



13 

36 

37 

54 

55 

78 

79 

104 

105 

134 

125 

134 



Fredericks 135 

Waud. 150 

Fredericks 151 

" 188 

189 

198 

199 



The Alchemist Fredericks 236 

The Giant Tree of California Dixon 237 

The Charter Oak, Runnymede. " 248 

The Misers Waud 249 

The Secret Treasure-Vault . . Fredericks -74 



» 



Vlll THE PLATES. 

ARTIST. PAGE 

Johnson Reading THE " Vicar " Waud 275 

The Death op Chatterton Fredericks 290 

The Belle op the Season " 291 

Study op the Beautiful " 324 

The Selfish and the Social. . . Eytynge 325 

The Club " 342 

The "Rolling Year " Fredericks 343 

The Four Seasons " 368 

Humors op THE Pen " 369 

The Pen and the Sword " 384 

Dean Swift IN HIS Pulpit , " 385 

Caught Napping " 406 

Shakespeare's Birthplace Dixon 407 

IHving's Cottage, Sunnyside ... " 422 

The Web and its Victims Nasi 423 

Grief ;iND Sorrow " 440 

Gathering Wild-Flowers Wliite 441 

Young Buds and Blossoms Eytynge 460 

The Modern Author Waud 461 

The Literary Culprit " 478 

The Deputation Stevens 479 

Dogs op Mount St. Bernard . . . Fredericks 500 

The Somnambulist " 501 

Sleeping Innocence Matthews 518 

The Smoking Club Fredericks 519 

A. Puff AT Parting " 526 



PRELIMINARY CHAT. 



" Excellent Salads," as Peter said to Parson Adams, " are to be 
found in almost every field ; " and these we have garnered from the fer- 
tile " fields of literature." Salad has this superiority over every other 
product of culinary art, to wit, — it is suitable to all seasons, as well 
as all sorts of persons — being a delectable conglomerate of good 
things — meats, vegetables, acids and sweets, oils, sauces, and a vari- 
ety of savory condiments too numerous to detail. Nor are we de- 
terred from attempting its subtle mixture, by the Spanish proverb 
which insists that four persons are indispensable to the production of 
a good salad : " A spendthrift for oil, a miser for vinegar, a counsel- 
lor for salt, and a madman to stir it all up " ! 

Ou/r salad — a consarcination of many choice things for the literary 

palate — 

"Various, that the mind 
Of desultory man, studious of change 
And pleased with novelty, may be indulged," 

will, it is hoped, felicitate the fancy, flatter the taste, and prove an 
antidote to ennui, or any tendency to senescent foreboding, should 
ever such mental malady chance to haunt the seclusion of the reader. 

Its contents are not only various in kind ; variety may also be 
said to characterize its treatment, which has been attempted some- 
what philosophically, poetically, ethically, satirically, critically, 
hypothetically, aesthetically, hyperbolically, psychologically, metaphysi- 
cally, humorously — and, since brevity is the soul of wit — sententiously. 

Said Sterne, " I would go fifty miles on foot to kiss the hand of 
that man whose generous heart will give up the reins of his imagin- 



10 PEELIMINARY CHAT. 

ation into his author's hands — be pleased, he knows not why, and 
cares not wherefore." 

Southey remarks that there are some persons who are willing to be 
pleased, and thankful for being pleased, without thinking it necessary 
that they should be able to parse their pleasure, like a lesson, or give 
a rule or reason why they are pleased. It is the aim and design of 
the following pages to put the reader in this precise condition ; believ- 
ing, with Sydney Smith, " that all mankind are happier for having 
been happy ; so that, if you make them happy now, you make them 
happy twenty years hence by the memory of it." These desultory 
chapters are the fruitage of many pleasant, recreative hours spent in 
the highways and by-ways of literature. Whenever a tempting 
thought-blossom decoyed lis by its alluring beauty, the prize was cap- 
tured to enrich and grace our collection. Such gleanings may by 
some be deemed trifles, but 

' ' Though high philosophy despise such things, 
They often give to weightier truths their wings ; 
Convey a moral, or correct bad taste. 
Though aptly caUed light learning, stUl not waste. 
A spark of natiu-s's fire will not despise, 
A word sometimes makes brighter, lovelier eyes; 
A flash of wit disarms old care of wrath, 
A happy line throws beauty in our path ; 
Though Sages say light learning wisdom stifles, 
There is delight in stringing useful trifles. " 

If trifles are facts, they cease to be trivial ; and, in these stirring 
times, when our allotted leisure is becoming so infinitesimally small, 
the terse and the epigrammatic are to' be preferred to the diffuse and 
discursive, in our reading. In grouping together the ingredients of 
this salad, it has been the aim of the purveyor to mix well the savory 
with the ci'isp, the spicy with the solid, and thus both tempt the ap- 
petite, and appease it. It would be great temerity to appropriate to 
our humble essay the witty analysis of a celebrated author, and pre- 
tend that " it has profundity without obscurity, perspicuity without 



PRELEVIINARY CHAT. 11 

prolixity, ornament without glare, terseness without barrenness, pene- 
tration without subtlety, comprehensiveness without digression, and 
a great number of other things, without a great number of other 
things." Odd in its plan and arrangement, it consists of many odd 
sayings and selections, from odd and out-of-the-way authors ; and is 
fitted for odd half-hours : so that it may be reckoned an odd affair alto- 
gether ; yet oddities provoke sometimes our risibilities, and promote 
ou.r amusement. Let us hope this literary oddity may accomplish a 
like result. In fine, our design is to combine entertainment with 
instruction, mingling — 

" Sayings fetched from Sages old, 
Laws which Holy Writ vmf old, 
Worthy to be graved in gold ; 
Lighter fancies not excluding, 
Blameless wit, with nothing rude in, 
Sometimes mildly interluding." 

For we hold with a French dramatist, that " the funds of wit and 
merriment are not yet exhausted ; that the wings of fancy are not 
yet clipped, and that our ancestors have not said and sung all our 
good things." 

" Salads," according to a modern authority, " refresh without ex- 
citing, and make people younger." The Salad we offer ought to 
have this effect, now that it is re-dressed and compounded anew with 
sundry additional esculents, succulents, and savory condiments ; and 
we hope everybody will bring^ it — a good appetite. Salads are not 
generally suited for weak dig^tions, or sickly folk ; yet we have it 
certified on professional authority that this salad is adapted for the 
especial cure and comfort of any who may have such malady as that 
complained of by the author of JElia, who thus piteously portrays 
his sufferings to Bernard Barton: " Do you know what it is to suc- 
cumb vmder an insurmountable day-rmire — an indisposition to do any- 
thing, or to be anything — a total deadness and distaste — a suspension 
of vitality — an indifference to locality, a numb, soporific good-for- 
nothingness — an ossification all over, an oyster-like indifference to 



12 



PRELIMINARY CHAT. 



passing events — a mind-stupor — a brawny defiance to the needles of 
a thrashing-in conscience — with a total irresolution to submit to 
water-gruel processes? " It is to be hoped that it will prove savory 
to the palate of a goodly number of good-natured guests ; since even 
frugal fare is rendered relishable by the presence of smiling faces and 
hapi)y hearts, while the most costly viands often lose their zest where 
these are not. Foremost among the pleasures of the table are, what 
an elegant novelist has termed " those felicitous moods in which our 
animal spirits search, and carry up, as it were, to the surface, our 
intellectual gifts and acquisitions." The invitation to this repast is, 
therefore, respectfully tendered to all genial spirits who will bear 
company with the host. 



"Oh, herbaceous treat 1 
'Twould tempt the dying anchorite to eat ; 
Back to the world he'd turn his weary soul, 
And plunge his fingers in the Salad-bowl 1 " — Sydney SMITH. 





ETETICS. 

'lease you to dine with us?" 

There can be no doubt of it, sirs ; the art 
of eating and drinking took its rise amid the 
mists of the remotest antiquity ; its history is coeval with that 
of the race. Unimpaired with the lapse of ages, this art is 
not likely ever to be superseded, or becomt obsolete. It is, 
moreover, a proclivity not peculiar to the human family, for 
it is alike shared by the subordinate orders of creation— ani- 



li DIETETICS. 

mals, birds, insects, and the finn}' tribes. Some creatures, in- 
deed, are even omnivorous, but 

"Man is a carnivorous production, 
And must have meals at least once in a day ; 
He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction. 
But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey !" 

It is not, indeed, with our physical, as with our mental appe- 
tite ; for the former is, at least, an intuition, while the latter 
may be, and not unfrequently is, neglected with impunity. 
Again, the mind may be fed upon fancy ; but the matter-of- 
fact stomach imperiously demands something more substan- 
tial, and will not be put off with dreamy idealizations. 

A hungi-y stomach is an inexorable creditor, and may not 
be trifled with ; its demands are not to be evaded. or ignored. 
It is not strange, therefore, that this habit of eating and drink- 
ing should become chronic, and cling to us with a tenacity 
that only ceases with life itself. According to an old saw 
some persons are said "to. live to eat," while others "eat to 
live." In either case, then, eating and living go together; 
and they seem to co-exist very harmoniously. To any one 
whose mind, or rather body, is in a receptive mood, what sound 
falls upon the ear more musically, or more gratefully, than 
that of the dinner-bell ? 



lat^^Pi 



" Of a^^K>eals — although 
I grant the power of pat^^,nd of gold, — 

Of beauty, flattery, threats — a shilling — no 
Method 's more sure at moments to take hold 

Of the best feelings of mankind, which grow 
More tender, as we every day behold — 

Than that all-softening, overpowering kneU — 

The tocsin of the soul — the dinner-bell ! " * 

* Byron. 



DIETETICS. 15 

The author of Gentle Life — a good English authority — 
thus portrays John Bull's jpenchant for the good things of the 
table : " Business may trouble us, politics worry us, and money 
matters drive us mad ; but we all eat, and eat heartily. If we 
meet to hear music at the Crystal Palace, it ends in a feast. 
If we run out of town, we must finish by eating. Do we wel- 
come a hero ? we give him a dinner ! Do we commence a 
charity ? a feast inaugurates it ; and the golden crumbs that 
drop, in the shape of subscription guineas, from the table of 
Dives, feed Lazarus and his family for many a long day." 
And, to adopt the remark of a worthy legal and literary author- 
ity,* whose undoubted Attic, as well as gustatory taste, seem 
to add emphasis to his words — we might say : " To be of 
good cheer, partake of good cheer. A great destiny demands 
a generous diet. The English are the greatest people upon 
earth — because they are the greatest beef -eaters ! The lazza- 
roni of Naples are the most degraded of men, because their 
food is the poorest. What can be expected of a people that 
live on macaroni?" So much for John Bull; if Brother 
Jonathan is not his equal in culinary skill, or in epicurean taste, 
he is by no means insensible to the fascinations of the well- 
spread table ; if he has any fault, it is that of not making the 
most of his opportunity. 

Our worthy friends over seas, indeed, seem to be inspired with 
the conviction that nothing ^ importance can be insured suc- 
cess, without the accessory of a good dinner. No wonder, 
therefore, that it should become one of the permanent institu- 
tions of their country; and where, may we not ask, is the 
gustatory art better illustrated ? 

Wlien Coleridge, who loved not only a good dinner, but 
also a good listener, was on one occasion dining out, he noticed 

* C. N. Bovee. 



16 DIETETICS. 

among the company a person, whose silent nods and continued 
reticence passed for appreciative wisdom, until a trifle dis- 
turbed the flattering delusion. The servant placed a dish of 
apple-dumplings on the table, and then his silent friend burst 
out with the remark — " them's the jockies for me ! " Coleridge 
said, aside, " I wish Spurzheim could have examined the fel- 
low's head." 

The practice of indulging the pleasures of the table accom- 
plishes a great deal of good in our social life, beside satiat- 
ing hunger and thirst. It also promotes the courtesies and 
amenities of home-life ; for a person is on much better terms 
with himself, and his neighbor, after he has partaken of a 
generous repast, than before. Diners home, and diners out, 
are of divers kinds ; some regard a table richly garnished with 
savory viands with an epicurean relish, others, like the omniv- 
orous gormandizer, devour their food with the rapacity and 
impetuosity of beasts of prey. If a dish be delectable to the 
palate, why not prolong its enjoyment, and make the most of 
it ? If the libation be nectar, why not lingeringly inhale the 
aromatic odor? Yet comparatively how few amongst us re- 
gard the subject in a scientific light, or possess the refinement 
of fancy, or educated taste, essential to the luxurious indul- 
gence of the palate of classic times ; we moderns preferring to 
appease simply the cravings of appetite, by devoting the more 
solid and substantial viands to the digestive process, rather 
than gratify our organs of taste with the ingenious combina- 
tions of which food is susceptible by culinary art. 

Some horrible monsters have achieved an unenviable notori- 
ety by their gluttonous habits ; but we have nothing to do with 
such voracious persons ; they are utter strangers to good taste 
as well as decency. There is, however, a droll story told of one 
inordinate eater — which we are tempted to repeat, though not 
to indorse. When Charles Gustavus, King of Sweden, was 



DIETETICS, 17 

besieging Prague, a boor of a most extraordinary visage de- 
sired admittance to his tent ; and being allowed to entei", he 
offered by way of amusement to devour a large hog in his 
presence. The old general Koenigsmark, who stood by the 
king's side, hinted to his royal master that the peasant ought 
to be burnt as a sorcerer. " Sir," said the fellow, irritated at 
the remark, " if your majesty will but make that old gentleman 
take off his sword and spnrs, I will eat him before I begin the 
pig." General Koenigsmark, who, at the head of a body of 
Swedes, performed wonders against the Anstrians, could not 
stand this proposal, especially as it was accompanied by a most 
hideous expansion of the jaws and mouth. Without uttering a 
word, the veteran turned pale, and impetuously rushed out of 
the tent, making with all speed for his quarters. 

Peter the Great was a gourmand of the first magnitude. 
While in England, on his return from a visit to Portsmouth, 
the Czar and his party, twenty-one in number, stopped at 
Godalming, where they ate — at breakfast, half a sheep, a 
quarter of lamb, ten pullets, twelve chickens, seven dozen of 
eggs, and salad in proportion, and drank three quarts of brandy 
and six quarts of mulled wine : at dinner, five ribs of beef, 
weight three stone; one sheep, fifty-six pounds; three quarters 
of lamb ; a shoulder and loin of veal boiled ; eight pullets, 
eight rabbits ; two dozen and a half of sack, and one dozen of 
claret. This bill of fare is preserved in Ballard's Collection, 
in the Bodleian Library at Oxford. 

Theodore Hook, in his Gilhert Gurney, describes an odd 
dinner of which he partook, in the West of England. The 
soup was a nice sort of veal broth ; at the bottom of the table 
was a roast loin of veal ; at the top, half a calfs head ; there 
were four entrees — veal patties, veal coUops, calfs brains, and 
calf's tongue. One of the guests, who hated veal, apparently 
waited for the second course, when the fair hostess apolo- 



18 DIETETICS. 

gized : " We have no second course ; the fact is, we killed a 
calf the day before yesterday, and we are such prudent mana- 
gers, that we make a point of eating it up while it is good, and 
nice and fresh, before we begin upon anything else." 

Smollett's house was often the scene of literary festive gath- 
erings, his coteries comprising most of the distinguished men 
of letters of his day ; epicures were they, in a double sense. 
Dr. Johnson, who was no doubtful authority on the subject, 
styled a tavern the throne of human felicity ; but it must be 
remembered, he was accustomed to meet congenial spirits at 
his clubs, as well as his favorite dishes. 

The clnbs of London had their prototypes in the symposia 
of the Greeks, and the convivia of the Romans. These associa- 
tions were revived in the reign of Queen Anne, and were in 
the zenith of their glory in the days of Johnson, Addison, 
Steele, and Garrick. The Mermaid was the earliest on record 
in London. Raleigh, previously to his unfortunate engage- 
ment with Cobham, had instituted a meeting of the heatix 
esprits at the Mermaid, in Friday street. This club combined 
more talent and genius, perhaps, than ever met together before, 
or since — Shakspeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, Selden, Cotton, 
Carew, and many other literary notabilities. Here, in the full 
flow and conlidence of friendship, the lively and interesting 
" wit combats " took place between Shakspeare and Jonson, 
which Beaumont thus refers to : 

" What things have we seen 
Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been 
So nimble and so full of subtle flame, 
As if that every one from whom they came 
Had meant to put his whole wit into a jest." 

The Kit-Kat Club, one of the most renowned of the clubs, 
was originated in the year ITOO, and was the rendezvous of the 



DIETETICS. 19 

nobility as -well as the dilettanti and cognoscenti. "Walpole 
remarks that its members included not only the wits of the 
time but the patriots that saved Britain. Although in respect 
of the rank of its members it surpassed all similar institutions, 
it was very humble in its origin. But we must not be tempted 
to dilate, as we could wish, upon club-life among the learned of 
•old times ; and the reader possibly may be familiar with its 
Listory. 

Although the transition is somewhat startling, yet for the 
«ake of the contrast let us turn from the dainties of the Eng- 
lish nobility to some of the uncivilized feeding habits of bar- 
barous nations. 

The Tartars pull a man by the ear to press him to drink, 
and they continue this flattering torment till he opens his 
TQouth, when they clap their hands and dance before him 
with great glee. No eustom is, perhaps, more amusingly 
:absurd than that resorted to by the Kamtchatkan when he 
wishes to make a man his friend. He first invites him to 
eat ; the host and his guest then strip themselves, in a catin, 
which is heated to an uncommon degree. "While the visitor 
is devouring his food, the other busily occupies himself with 
stirring the fire to produce an increased intensity of heat. The 
poor guest is doomed to undergo this scorching ordeal, till nature 
absolutely revolts, and endurance can no longer abide the test, 
when they compound ! In some instances, it is said, the poor 
victim of this ardent test of friendship positively becomes a 
martyr to the ordeal. If he survive, the stranger has, howenier, 
the right of retaliation allowed him; and he usually requites 
the kindness of his host with an ardor and zeal, if possible, 
increased in its intensity, by his own recent involuntary suf- 
ferings. 

The Maldivian islanders eat alone ; a habit which probably 
arises from the primitive and uncivilized custom of barbarous 



20 DIETETICS. 

tribes, who fear lest others who may suffer from as keen an 
appetite as themselv'es, and who have more strength of consti 
tution, should come and ravish the whole meal ! 

The Laplanders live upon the reindeer and bear, their ordi- 
nary libation being whale-oil, or water in which juniper berries 
have been infused. It is a well-known climatic peculiarity of 
countries which lie within or near the arctic circle, that the in- 
habitants require four or live times as much food as those of 
temperate climates. At Nova Zembla, from the greater activ- 
ity and vigor of the digestive organs, Europeans are obliged 
to follow the example of the natives, by drinking the blood of 
the reindeer, and eating raw flesh ; the intense cold removing 
that disgust which such doses w^ould naturally inspire among 
other people. To inhabitants of warm countries, temperance,, 
or even occasional abstinence, is therefore no very difficult 
virtue ; while northern nations, on the contrary, are necessarily 
voracious to keep up the requisite quantum of caloric. 

An account of a Chinese entertainment is thus given by 
Captain Laplace, who attended one of their feasts : " The flrst 
course was laid out in a great number of saucers, and consisted 
of various relishes in a cold state, among which were salted 
earth-worms, prepared and dried, but so cut up that I for- 
tunately did not know what they were until I had swallowed 
them; smoked fish and ham, both of them cut up into ex- 
tremely small slices." John Chinaman, since his advent to our 
Pacific coast, has, doubtless, improved his taste somewhat, and 
instead of cats, rats, and dogs being deemed, as heretofore, his 
daintiest rarities, he is educating his palate for pork and beans, 
and such like Western varieties. The Caffres, the Bushmen, 
the cannibals, and other detestable creatures, are all too dis- 
agreeable to talk about. Our neighbors of Mexico are said to 
be, like the French, very partial to frogs; the banana, however, 
forms a principal article of food with them, also the cassava. 



DIETETICS. 21 

•which is extremely nutritive ; but the flesh of monkeys is with 
the Mexicans, as well as the inhabitants of some of the West 
India islands, often used, since they have a good supply of that 
genns in their forests. T\A% jpenchant seems but one remove 
from absoliite cannibalism, since, when this animal is divested 
of his skin, the flesh precisely resembles that of a human being. 

We have not yet finished our catalogue of these rarer deli- 
cacies of mankind. There are the geophagists, or earth-eaters, 
and such as subsist on the bark of trees. Incredible as it may 
seem, the digestive functions of man, in his rudest state, are 
€ven capable of deriving a species of nutriment from the soil. 
In New Guinea, and even in some of our own Southern States, 
these earth-eaters are to be found. We learn from Humboldt 
that the Ottomaques, on the banks of the Meta and the Orinoco, 
feed on a fat, unctuous earth, tinged with a little oxide of iron. 
They collect this clay very careful!}^, distinguishing it by the 
taste ; they knead it into balls of four or five inches in diam- 
eter, which they bake slightly before a slow fire. These balls 
are soaked in waiter when about to be used, and each individual 
eats about a pound of the material every day. 

When an English traveller expressed his surprise and disgust 
at some Arabs eating insects, the men retorted, that it was poor 
affectation in a person who would swallow raw oysters. 

Recent experiments in Germany have proved that the wood 
of various trees may be converted into a nutritious substance. 
The fibres of the birch, fir, lime, and elm, when dried, ground, 
and sifted, so as to form a powder, like coarse flour, are not only 
<}apable of affording wholesome nourishment, but with a little 
culinary skill constitute very palatable articles of food. Cold 
water being poured on this wood flour, inclosed in a fine linen 
bag, it becomes quite milky. 

Soyer* remarks to the effect that a serious interest is 
* Pantropheon. 



22 DIETETICS. 

imparted to the diet of a people, if it be true (as he affirm& 
it is), that the manners, idiosyncrasies, and proclivities of a 
people are modified to a certain extent by the nature of 
their diet. It has also, no doubt, its comic interest. If this- 
could be proved, character might be determined by consult- 
ing the cook. So that he who has a prevailing preference 
for mutton, vt^ould of course, in time, partake of a sheepish ex- 
pression; while another, with a persistent predilection for porky 
would become hoggish in his manners : but it would not be- 
safe, perhaps, to pursue the analogy any farther. Speaking of 
mutton, suggests the remark that a sheep when dead becomes- 
mutton — all except the head — for who ever inquired for a 
mutton-head ; while the accepted phrase, shoulder of mutton,, 
is intelligible to all. There is a droll incident related of a 
French preacher, who having but partially acquired a knowl- 
edge of the English tongue, on one occasion, in the course of 
his sermon, addressed Xihjlock by the endearing epithet — " 3fy 
dear mutton ! " The reader will pardon the recital of another 
triviality : A person once asked his guest if he should cut the- 
loin of mutton saddle-wise? " No," replied the latter, "by 
all means cut it hridle-wise, for then I may chance to get a hit 
in my mouth." The mention of mutton at once suggests its- 
affinit}^, lamb, and its accessory, inint sauce ; and this, again,, 
the following little pleasantry, given in a recent literary jour- 
nal.* When Lord Minto was in the Miuistry, a lady of rank^ 
who was always very inquisitive after political news, inquired 
after the news of the day. The answer was that " the Hon. 
Mr. Lamb meets Lord Minto very often at dinner, and some- 
thino; must be concoctino; " ! 

Leaving mutton, however, for the present, at any rate^ 
we might just name some of the other varieties, for exam- 

* " Notes and Queries." 



DIETETICS. 23 

pie, the flesh of the calf, which we designate veal,' that ol 
the hog, hacon and ham, and the sports of the chase, game. 
Speaking of ham, recalls an old conundrum : Do you ask 
why no man should starve, even on the deserts of Arabia ? 
Because of the saiid which is there. And do you further in- 
quire how came the sand which is there ? Know that the tribe 
of Ham was there hred and mustered ! Passing from solid 
meats to dessert, we might just refer to a favorite fruit which 
changes its name still oftener than the above-named meats. 
When plucked from the vine, w-e call the fruit grapes, when 
dried, 9'aisins, when in a pudding, _^Zwms, while the juice we 
extract from them becomes wine. 

The Romans regarded their supper as their chief meal, as 
we do the dinner ; it was styled tridinium^iYOvo. three couches 
on which the guests reclined. The guests commonly were ac- 
customed to recline upon the couch, leaning upon the left 
elbow. Their banquets were remarkable for their profusion 
and costliness. 

Having exhausted their invention in the confection of stim- 
ulants for the palate, they called in another sense to their aid ; 
and by the delicate application of odors and richly-distilled 
perfumes, these refined voluptuaries aroused the fainting appe- 
tite, and added a more exquisite and ethereal enjoyment to the 
grosser pleasures of the board. 

Among the Komans, flowers formed a very essential article 
in their festal preparations ; and it is the opinion of Bacchius, 
that at their desserts the number of flowers far exceeded 
that of fruits. When J!Tero, whose memory is so inodorous, 
supped in his golden house, a mingled shower of flowers and 
odorous essences fell upon him. Nor was it entirely as an 
object of luxury that the ancients made use of flowers ; they 
were considered to possess sanative and medicinal qualities. 

In point of profusion, nothing was equal to that which 



24 DIETETICS. 

reigned at the banquet of Aliasuerus, who " regaled, during six 
months, all the princes and governors of his state, and kept 
open house for seven entire days, for all the people of the 
great town of Suza." 

The luxiu'ies of the Roman table began at the period of 
.the battle of Actium, and continued to the reign of Galba. 
Their delicacies cohsisted of peacocks, cranes, nightingales, veni- 
son, wild and tame fowls ; they were also fond of iish. The 
reigning taste was for a profusion of provisions ; whole wild 
boars were served up, hlled with various small animals and 
birds of different kinds. The dish was called the Trojan 
horse, in allusion to the horse filled with soldiers. Fowls and 
game of all sorts were served up in pyramids, piled up in 
dishes as broad as modern tables. Lucullus had a particular 
name for each apartment, with its appropriate table, and a cer- 
tain scale of expense attached to each. 

He was equally sumptuous in his wardrobe. 

A Roman prsetor, who was to give games to the public, re- 
quested to borrow one hundred purple robes for the actors. 
Lucullus replied that he could lend him two hundred if he 
wanted them. 

Salads were among the table-delicacies of the ancients as 
well as the moderns — the lactuca, or lettuce, being one of the 
most common of vegetables. Athenseus refers to its use for 
salad, and its accompanying condiments. 

Soyer remarks that from time immemorial the lettuce has 
occupied a most distinguished place in the kitchen-garden. 
The Hebrews ate it without preparation, with the Paschal lamb. 
The opulent Greeks v\'ere very fond of the lettuces of Smyrna, 
which appeared on their tables at the end of a repast: the 
Romans, who at first imitated them, decided under Domitian 
that this favorite dish should be served in the first course with 
eggs, to excite their appetites. The lettuce possesses a narcotic 



DIETETICS. 25 

virtue, not unnoticed by the ancient physicians. Galen, in hi? 
old age, mentions that he had not found a better remedy 
against the wakefulness he was troubled with. 

Tlie author of Sjparrowgrass Pajyers tells a good story 
about a salad once concocted, as a test of skill, by an artiste in 
Philadelphia. Some gentlemen of taste were assembled to 
regale their palates .on the occasion, and ostensibly all seemed 
to pass off with success. The next morning the host, whose 
suspicions were excited, inquired of his domestic what had be- 
come of a bottle of castor oil which he gave her to put away. 
" Sure, you said it was castor oil," she replied, " and, ov coorse, 
I put it in the castor." " I thought so," added our host. 

" Salad," said Jack Cade (in ShaJcsj)eare), " was born to do 
me good." Who will dispute such an authority ? For instance, 
for a fit of indigestion, or dyspepsia, what better specific could 
be devised than the salad offered herewith ? Or for a fit of 
mental abstraction, what remedy more readily would restore 
the party to himself ? Not merely is it possessed of medicinal 
virtues, it is also appetizing, invigorating, and healthful, well- 
seasoned, and equally suited to the solitary as the social. 

In Saxon and mediaeval times the feudal barons of "Merrie 
England " were as renowned for the splendor of their lavish 
hospitality as for their military prowess and chivalry. Many 
a proud castle-home, or grand ancestral hall, resounded with 
the voice of revelry and music — when the clash of arms and 
the fierce tumult of mortal strife had, for a time, become 
hushed. Such a scene of festive banqueting, presided over 
by some lordly chieftain, with his chivalric retainers, must 
have been an inspiring spectacle : 

" For in the lofty arched hall 
Was spread the gorgeous festival," 

while stately dames of dazzling beauty mingled with groups 



26 DIETETICS. 

of mailed knights and squires, and liveried warriors and vas- 
sals, combined to present a coup cfmil of baronial magnificence 
and splendor rarely surpassed. 

Queen Elizabeth and her maids-in-waiting exhibited much 
bravery in the service of the breakfast and dinner. Beef 
and beer were the staple of the table then, and both have 
maintained their preferred claims with John Bull even down 
to the present time, though not at the same meal. James 
I., who fulminated so fiercely against Tobacco, was rather 
prodigal in his gastronomic indulgences, for his household ex- 
penditure is estimated at £100,000, double the amount required 
for the purpose by his predecessor, Elizabeth. There was 
more temperance observed during the reign of Charles I., and 
Cromwell's table was remarkable for its simplicity. 

The magnificent fete given by the Prince Kegent, at Carl- 
ton House, in 1811, was the ovi\y experiment ever made at any 
court of Europe to give a supper to 2000 of the nobility and 
gentry. The largest entertainment at the most brilliant period 
of the French monarchy, was that given by the Prince of 
Conde to the King of Sweden, at Chantilly, when the covers 
only amounted to 400 ; while, at the fete given by the Prince 
Regent, covers were laid for 400 in the palace, and for 1600 
more in pavilions, in the garden. There was exhibited lavish 
expenditure on this occasion ; and also the puerile taste of a 
stream, with gold and silver fish, flowing down the centre of the 
table. Simplicity of taste distinguishes the royal table at Wind- 
sor Castle, except on state occasions, when a banquet is given ; 
then it is a scene of sumptuous splendor.* 

* The royal plate at Windsor is kept in one tolerably sized room and an ad- 
joining closet, and valued at 1,750,000Z. sterling ! There is one gold service, 
formed by George IV., to dine 130 guests; some pieces were taken from the 
Spanish Armada, some brought from India, Biirmah, China, &c. One vessel 
belonged to Charles XII., of Sweden, and another to the King of Ava; a pea- 



DIETETICS. 27 

Notable personages have been, like the uncelebrated, remark- 
able for their fondness for particular articles of diet. Let us 
name a few instances : Luther, " the solitary monk that shook 
the world," laid a good foundation for the rough pioneer-work 
he had to do, by a most substantial supply of fibrous meats, 
which he lubricated with Rhine wine and Forgan beer, the 
lager-hier of his day — of which he did not stint himself. But 
then, it must be lemembered that he had a redoubtable physique 
to sustain, and a wonderful amount of work to achieve. Charles 
XIL, of Sweden, was as remarkable for his abstemiousness ; he 
was content with, indeed, it is said he preferred, above all the 
attractions of the banquet, plain bread and butter. Napoleon, 
also, was no gourmand, but, like Yoltaire, was excessively fond 
of coffee, as Boswell informs us the great lexicographer was 
of Mrs. Thrall's cups of tea. The Emperor Frederick of Ger- 
many, and Maximilian II., were alike so inordinately fond of 
melons, that they both became ultimately victims to the pas- 
sion. Henry IV. of France, like not a few sovereigns of this 
western world, indulged largely in oysters. The wits and wor- 
thies of Shahsjpeare's Merrie England made themselves glo- 
rious over their spiced sack, and other fragrant potations, to 
which some of the Elizabethan poets ascribed many of their 
most inspired utterances. 

Franklin at one time contemplated practising abstinence 
from animal food. " I hesitated some time," says he, " be- 
tween principle and inclination, till at last recollecting that, 

cock of precious stones, valued at 30,000?. ; and a tiger's head (Tippoo's foot- 
stool), with a solid ingot of gold for his tongue, and crystal teeth ; numerous 
and splendidly ornamented gold shields, one made from snuff-boxes, value 
8000 guineas ; and thirty dozen of plates, which cost 26 guineas each plate. 
The magnificent silver wine-cooler, made by RundeU and Bridge for George 
IV. , is enclosed with plate-glass : its superb chasing and other ornamental 
work occupied two years, and two full-grown persons may sit in it without 
inconvenience. 



28 DIETETICS. 

when a cod bad been opened, some small lisb were found in it, 
I said to myself, if you eat one another, I see no reason why 
we may not eat you. I accordingly dined on the cod with no 
small degree of pleasure, and have since continued to eat like 
the rest of mankind, returning only occasionally to my vege- 
table plan. How convenient does it prove to be a rational 
animal, that knows how to find or invent a plausible pretext 
for whatever it has an inclination to do ! " 

When Sir Isaac Newton was writing his Princi^ia, he 
lived on a scanty allowance of bread and water, and vegetable 
diet. 

In a letter to a friend. Dr. Parr confesses his love of " hot 
boiled lobsters, with a profusion of shrimp-sauce." Pope, who 
was an epicure, would lie in bed for days at Lord Eoling- 
broke's unless he were told that tliei'e were stewed lampreys 
for dinner, when he arose instantly and came down to table. 
A gentleman treated Dr. Johnson to new honey and clouted 
cream, of which he ate so largely that his entertainer became 
alarmed. All his lifetime' Dr. Johnson had a voracious attach- 
ment for a leg of nnitton. Dryden, writing to a lady, declining 
her invitation to a handsome supper, says : " If beggars might 
be choosers, a chine of honest bacon would please my appetite 
more than all the marrow- puddings, for I like them better 
plain, having a very vulgar stomach." Poets do not, you see, 
always feed upon fancy. 

Dr. Fordyce contended that as one meal a day was enough 
for a lion, it ought to sufhce for a man. Accordingly, for 
more than twenty years, the Doctor used to eat only a dinner 
in the whole course of the day. This solitary meal he took 
regularly at four o'clock, at Dolly's Chop House. A pound and 
a half of rump steak, naif a broiled chicken, a plate of fish, a 
bottle of port, a quarter of a pint of brandy, and a tankard of 
strong ale, satisfied the doctor's moderate wants till four o'clock 



DIETETICS. 29 

next day, and regularly engaged one hour and a half of his 
time. Dinner over, he returned to his home in Essex street, 
Strand, to deliver his six o'clock lecture on anatomj^ and chem- 
istry. 

Shelley, who had an ineffable contempt for all the sensuali- 
ties of the table, and, like Newton, used sometimes to inquire 
if he had dined, was of opinion that abstinence from animal 
food subtilizes and clears the iutellectual faculties. To coun- 
teract a tendency to corpulency. Lord Byron, at one period, 
dined four days in the week on fish and vegetables, and even 
stinted himself to a pint of claret. If temperate in eating, it 
does not appear that he was equally conscientious with respect 
to his libations — especially in that beverage styled gin-and- 
water, to the inspiration of which some of his lucubrations owe 
their origin. Burns — the glowing but erratic Burns — was, as 
is too well known, a wretched instance of the baneful effects 
of intemperance. 

Scott used to say, that " greatness of any kind has no greater 
foe than a habit of drinking." This striking and just remark 
is, however, only an abridgment of one by Swift, who pro- 
nounces temperance to be '' a necessary virtue for great men ; 
since it is the parent of that ease and liberty which are neces- 
sary for the improvement of the mind, and which philosophy 
allows to be one of the greatest felicities of life." " If you 
wish to keep mind clear and body healthy, abstain from fer- 
mented liquors," is the sage counsel of Sydney Smith. 

Charles Lamb delighted in roast pig and a draught of porter 
out of the pewter pot, and he would press his friends, even 
great men and bashful ladies, to taste the genuine article, fresh 
drawn at the bar of his favorite little inn at Edmonton. Cole- 
ridge observes, that " some men are like musical glasses — to 
produce their finest tones, you must keep them wet." Addi- 
son's recourse to the bottle as a cure for his taciturnity, finally 



30 DIETETICS. 

induced those intemperate habits which elicited Dr. Johnson's 
memorable remarks — " In the bottle, discontent seeks for com- 
fort, cowardice for courage, and bashfulness for confidence." 
It is not unlikely that Addison was first seduced to excess by 
the manumission which he obtained from the servile timidity 
of his sober hours. 

From Chaucer, with his pipe of wine, to the time of Ben 
Jonson onward, with a few noble exceptions, the laureates seem 
to have loved the juice of the grape, as well as the Heliconian 
fount. " Rare Ben " had such a fancy for a particular wine, 
that it procured for him the sobriquet of the " canary-bird." 
But the passion for " libations deep " has not been the infirmity 
of the poets only ; persons of all classes and all times have been 
its victims. 

Literary men have proverbially weak digestion, superinduced 
in most instances, it is true, by their sedentary habits and de- 
votion to study. The pleasures of the table, indeed, if indulged 
to excess, entail the penalty of dyspepsia upon all who trans- 
gress physical law. According to Dr. Doran, more than 
seventeen hundred works on this prevalent evil of indigestion 
have been published ; out of this formidable array of curators, 
perhaps " moderation " is the best and surest specific. Dr. 
Johnson is said to have observed the good old habit of saying 
" grace before meat ; " but he often grumbled with his cook, not 
content wdth his food. It has been well remarked, that " he is 
an ungracious knave who sits down to a repast without at 
least a silent acknowledgment to Him without whom there 
could have been no spreading of the banquet." Such a de- 
faulter deserves dyspepsia, or no dinner at all. 

Having thus taken a brief survey of the edibles of various 
nations, presenting an amusing assemblage of dishes — enough 
to flatter the most capricious palate of the veriest epicure, we 
shall leave their more minute discussion to the taste of the 



DIETETICS. 31 

reader ; nothing doubting that John Bull will indulge his pre- 
dilection for roast beef, plum pudding, and old port, or beer 
— Monsieur his love for souj> maigre, fricassee, and vin ordi- 
naire — and Brother Jonathan his preference for everything 
that is nice, not excepting his down-east dish — pumpkin pie. 

Samuel Lover's joke of tlie Irishman in France may be 
familiar to the reader ; the Hibernian, upon being presented 
with the soup aforesaid, eagerly surveyed its contents, and be- 
ing about to throw off his coat, was asked what he was at ; he 
replied, " Faith, I'm going to swim for that bit of mate." He 
was evidently rather for solids than solutions. An Irishman is 
almost synonymous with his " pratee ; " it is his mate, as whis- 
key is his drink. At Manchester there was once convened a 
society of verdant bipeds, who rejoiced in the title of vegetari- 
ans, from their custom of eating nothing but vegetables. Their 
members frequently met for the laudable purpose of masticat- 
ing mashed potatoes and munching cabbage leaves. At one 
of these convocations, over two hundred sat down to a table 
garnished with all varieties of garden stuff — such as sage 
and onions, beet-root, mushrooms, and parsley, and such like 
luxuries. 

A recent English writer thus daintily describes the dessert : 
" The French epicurean writers say that the dessert should be 
the girandole or crowning tableau of the dinner. It should 
surprise, astonish, dazzle, enchant. If the dinner have fully 
satisfied the sense of taste and the well-balanced appetite, the 
dessert should address itself to the soul through the eyes. It 
should rouse sensations of surprise and admiration, and crown 
the enjoyments that commenced with the removal of the cover 
of the soup tureen — that Pandora's casket of a bad dinner — 
that joy and triumph of a successful and tasteful repast." 

The same sprightly pen continues : " The dessert is meant 
for the eyes more than the stomach. Yet what bright and pleas- 



32 DIETETICS. 

ant things have been said ' over the walnuts and the wine ; ' 
what pretty and gallant compliments paid as filberts have been 
cracked ! How agreeable it is on a winter evening to see a 
broadside of honest chestnuts bounce and bang from the lower 
bar of the grate ; what time the miserable and tepid formality 
of smuggling them in, wrapped in a napkin, has been forgotten 
for the quiet comfort and enjoyment of a really friendly party ! 
The dinner is over, its toils, its glories, are past ; we are now 
in a flowering prairie of idleness, with nothing to do but to try 
fruits, and to sip at all preserves that are not at discord with 
our wine." 

" Take it altogether (conventional as it is), no one would wish 
the custom of dessert abolished. It is a pleasant little fruit 
harvest ; but the ladies must no longer be suffered to leave us, 
now the three-bottle days are gone forever. And if English 
families would only get into the quiet, enjoyable German way 
of part-singing, and would teach their young people to sing, 
dessert would be the best time for a little agreeable, unostenta- 
tious, cosey, natural music." 

When Dean Swift was invited to dinner by his friend Lord 
Bolingbroke, and, as an inducement to accept, was shown the 
dinner bill, he replied, " A fig for your bill of fare — show me 
your bill of company." Those who are perfectly versant in 
forming good dinners are not always equally au fait in their 
selection of guests ; such companies being often more incon- 
gruous and less likely to assimilate than the various viands, 
sauces, and dainties of which the entertainment consists. 

There must be a sort of adaptation or homogeneousness 
among the guests assembled — so tliat the old may not be con- 
founded with the young, the high with the homely, the rough 
with the refined. Nay, there often occur individuals, who, like 
an acid and an alkali, though separately pungent, are totally 
neutralized by a junction. 



DIETETICS. 33 

This is seen iu the ill-assorted dinner-parties occasionally to 
be met with. " At one table you beliold a judge, brimful of 
law, brought into contact with a captain of the sea, who abso- 
lutely spouts salt water. At another, a spinster of the most 
perpendicular propriety is subjected to the explosions of a bois- 
terous miss. At a third, a fair one is placed side by side with 
her quondam faithless adorer. At a fourth, two party oppo- 
nents glare, like meteors, against each other, from their adverse 
orbits." 

At the grand entertainments of the nobility and gentry of 
England, it is the well-known custom for the servant to an- 
nounce the names of the guests as they arrive. A greenhorn 
of a lackey persisted, on several such occasions, in giving to his 
mistress a title which she did not claim, announcing her and her 
daughter as the Right Honorable Lady A, and the Honorable 
Miss A. He was told in future to announce them as — simple 
Lady A. and plain Miss A. Their astonishment may be im- 
agined when they found the instructions carried out to the let- 
ter, while Devonshire House was electrified by the intelligence, 
that simjple Lady A. and plain Miss -4. were coming up ! 

A word or two touching libations. The faculty insist that 
every departure from water in its natural state is an injury to 
the animal economy. We confess, however, with Parr, John- 
son, Robert Hall, and other erudite pundits, a decided predi- 
lection for a good cup of tea. Leigh Hunt discourses in 
rapturous strain on this topic, where he asks — 

" Did you ever return home from a journey, cold, wet, and 
weary, and unexpected, after tea was over, and the tea leaves 
ejected from the silver? Bright eyes glistened with delight at 
the sight of you ; perhaps more than one pair, and a silvery 
voice names the mao-ic word ' tea.' Out of some dozen of 
these instances, did it ever happen to you — when the tea had 
been made for you alone — to partake of a cup whose delicious 
3 



34 DIETETICS. 

fi'agrance had dwelt ever after on your palate, like a vision of 
paradise, and of which you have sometimes a difficulty in per- 
suading yourself that it was not all a dream? Such an 
instance once occurred to me, not after a journey, but at a 
dining-out. I left the animals at their accustomed wine, and 
followed on the track of the girls, some of whom were so full 
of charms that, had Hebe fallen sick, they might have supplied 
her place at the board of Jove, without the fair nectar-bearer 
being missed. It was winter time ; the fire burned brightly, 
and the rug was so soft and rich that I would not have ex- 
changed it for the golden fleece which set so many men raving 
of old. The ottoman on which I reclined might have made 
an old Roman spurn his supper couch, and the girls gathering 
around me might have made old Mohammed sulky in his 
paradise, and all his houris jealous. By all the immortal gods ! 
that moment might have served as a memorable era in a cen- 
tury of lives; but it was nothing to what followed. The 
clustering beauties called for a tale of the wilderness, of 
' antres vast, and deserts wild,' and one presses more than the 
others. I see her now, her Greek face, her glossy hair, her 
speaking eyes, straight, pencilled, defined, dark brows, long 
eyelashes, and parted lips, ' discoursing eloquent music' 

" ' A bargain ! ' I said, as she sat on the ottoman by my side. 
' A cup of tea made after mine own fashion, and I will talk 
till sunrise ! ' 

" ' Agreed ! ' she replied, and the preparations were made. 
A hermetically sealed canister was brought, containing a single 
pound ; not a leaden canister, but one of tin ; not block tin, 
either, but the pure metal, thin, white, glittering, and crack- 
ling. Talk of the charms of an uncut novel, indeed ! Give 
me the opening of such a virgin case, pure as it left China. 
It was not green tea, it was not black tea ; neither too young 
nor too old ; not unpleasing with astringence, on the one hand, 



DIETETICS. 35 

nor with the vapid, half-earthly taste of decayed vegetable 
matter on the other ; it was tea in its most perfect state, full 
charged with aroma, which, when it was opened, diffused its 
fragrance through the whole apartment, putting all other 
perfumes to shame. About an ounce was then rubbed to 
powder by my fair Hebe, and deposited in its broad, shallow, 
silver receiver, with just cold water enough to saturate it. 
After standing twenty minutes, hot water off the hoil, as it is 
technically called, that is, free from ebullition, was poured on 
it, amounting in quantity to three-quarters of a pint, and the 
lid was closely shut down on it, while the cylindrical-shaped 
tea-cup was placed on the spout to catch the aroma thence 
issuing. At the expiration of a minute, it was poured out 
(what a beautiful hand it was !), and the rich globules of essen- 
tial oil might be seen floating on the surface, a perfect treasure 
of delight. A small portion of Alderney cream was instantly 
added, to prevent the escape of the essential oil, and just suffi- 
cient of the brilliant large-crystallized sugar to neutralize the 
slight bitter. Oh, heavens ! to sip that most exquisite cup of 
delight, was bliss almost too great for earth ; a thousand years 
of rapture all concentrated into the space of a minute, as if the 
joys of all the world had been skimmed for my peculiar drink- 
ing — I should rather say imbibing, for to have swallowed that 
liquid like an ordinary beverage, without tasting every drop, 
would have been sacrilege." 

The first English tea dealer was also a tobacconist ; his 
name was Garway, and his locale Exchange alley. These 
" weeds of novelty " were costly luxuries at first. Tea was used 
medicinally, and it was not until the end of the seventeenth 
century that it was indulged in as a beverage. The first brew- 
ers of tea were often sorely perplexed with the preparation of 
the new mystery ; after boiling the tea, " they sat down to eat 
the leaves, with butter and salt ; " since then, however, the tea 



36 



DIETETICS. 



leaves are thrown away, and the beverage, which cheers but 
not inebriates, has been imbibed instead. The Dutch were 
the first to discover the utility and vahie of the herb, and 
when, in 1666, it was first introduced into England, it sold at 
about three guineas per pound. 

Here, then, we close our desultory discussion of table deli- 
cacies, so as to allow a respite for digesture; since without 
the assimilating process, even the daintiest dishes — though 
they flatter the palate — may yet superinduce that dire tor- 
mentor — dyspepsia! All ought, of course, to secure the one 
and escape the other; and to the despondent valetudinarian 
our counsel is, " throw physic to the dogs," and address thyself 
devotedly to the fibrous virtues of the " glorious sirloin." 








THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITURN. 



"Words must be fitted to a man's mouth — ^"twas well said of the fellow that was to make a 
:;peech for my Lord Mayor, when he desired to take measure of his Lordship's mouth." — Selden. 



This gift of speech is the electric chain that links mankind 
together in the social compact ; it is the living medium through 
which the resources of the realm of thought become an intel- 
lectual currency. What, indeed, should we be without the en- 
dowment of this heaven-descended faculty ? If it were not an 
HibernianisTn, we would say let the dumb reply. Taciturnity 



38 THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITURN. 

sometimes shelters itself under the specious pretext, that a 
still tongue indicates a wise head ; but the truth is, there are 
too many important things to talk about, in the present day, to 
admit of habitual reticence being ranked among the social 
virtues. 

The human voice is the most marvellous, as well as melodi- 
ous, of all the music of nature. Sweet are the songs of birds, 
the rich melody of the harp, the vial, and other instruments of 
sound ; but what are these to the soft, sweet cadences of 
woman's voice ? Who does not confess to the witchery of her 
persuasive speech, and who is proof against its potency ? Eye- 
language is hers, also, and it is full of magic and mystery ; but 
her voice is irresistible. How deep an interest do we possess 
in the faculty of speech. The eye is said never to be tired of 
seeing, nor the ear with hearing, and both organs have enough 
in this beautiful world of sights and sounds for their delecta- 
tion ; it is not surprising, therefore, that both should con- 
stantly crave indulgence. Nor is the gift of speech a less 
essential endowment of our being. " Talking is the best of all 
recreations, and a master of the art possesses the most useful 
and enjoyable of accomplishments. Conversation is designed 
to be the one long-lasting, never-failing amusement of man- 
kind. / It is the pleasure that sets in earliest, outlives all vicissi- 
tudes, and continues ours when we can enjoy nothing else."! 
What potency has, sometimes, accompanied a few magic words ! 
Who can estimate their beneficent influence upon hearts 
sorrow-laden? With what a potent spell do they often dissi- 
pate the gloom of the sick-chamber, and light up the sad face 
of suffering humanity ! The cheerful converse of a friend 
will often tend, more than anything else, to soothe, exhilarate, 
and expand the heart, and impart an elasticity to the spirit, and 
a vigor to the vital current, beyond all the skill of the phy- 
sician. 



THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITURN. 39 

" Use gentle words, for who can tell the blessings they impart ? 

How oft they faU (as manna feU), on some nigh-fainting heart. 

In lonely wilds, by light- winged birds, rare seeds have oft been sown ; 
j And hope has sprung from gentle words, where only griefs had grown." 3 

" Never is the deep, strong voice of man, or the low, sweet voice 
of woman, finer than in the earnest but mellowed tones of 
familiar speech, richer than the richest music, which are a de- 
light while they are heard, which linger still upon the ear in 
softened echoes, and which, when they have ceased, come long 
after back to memory, like the murmurs of a distant hj^nn. 
Oh ! it is very pleasant to listen to such voices, accordant with 
lofty conceptions and sweet humanities — the soul-breathino-s 
that now swell with daring imaginations, and then sink into the 
gentleness of sadness or of pity. I have heard such voices, voices 
that were music from the soul and to it — the very melody of 
thought, and of thought that was the very soul of goodness. 
Beautiful conceptions sang along the syllables, beautiful feel- 
ings came trickling from the heart in liquid tones. Yery 
pleasant are such voices, pleasant on the fragrant air of a sum- 
mer's evening, pleasant by the fire on a winter's night, pleasant 
in the palace, pleasant in the shanty, pleasant while they last, 
pleasant to remember, even with sorrow, when they are silent 
— when their melody shall never, never again attune and 
sweeten the common air of earth." * 

By popular consent — at least with one sex — the daughters 
of Eve are supposed to excel in the use of the vocal organs. 
"What must have been the severity of the penalty which was self- 
imposed upon the nuns of that monastery, which in the fifteenth 
century stood on the site now occupied by Sion House, on the 
banks of the Thames, near London. Their terrible vow of per- 
petual silence was, it is said, kept inviolate by means of man- 
ual and bodily signs ; a manuscript copy of their code of signals, 

* Henry Giles. 



40 THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITURN. 

we have been told, is yet in existence. And yet it is affirmed by 
one of our popular writers that conversation is fast dying out 
with us — that it will soon become one of the " lost arts ; " that 
modern men and women are reading themselves into a com- 
paratively silent race. " Reading is the great delusion of the 
present time ; it has become a sort of lay piety, according to 
which the perusal of volumes reckons as good works ; it is, in 
a word, the superstition of the nineteenth century." * The 
case is, however, we think, far from hopeless yet ; for so long 
as our " mother-tongue " remains under the especial patronage 
of the fair sex, we have little cause to feai'. 

Hazlitt, strangely enough, considering his cultivated taste and 
acuteness, confesses that he was " very much of the opinion of 
that old Scotch gentleman, who owned that he preferred the 
dullest book he had ever read to the most brilliant conversation 
it had ever been his lot to hear." Few, indeed, we think, will 
subscribe to this opinion, even among the lovers of books ; 
for who does not prefer the freshness and fragrance of the liv- 
ing flower to the distilled essence of its crushed leaves ? 

A book, even when it contains the " life-blood of an immor- 
tal spirit," still is not itself an immortal spirit ; for the builder 
of a house is greater than the house. Yet, while many men, 
eminent in learning, have glorified the glorious gift of speech, 
many also have glorified books, by making them the vehicles 
of their recorded conversations. What a wealth of learning 
have we derived from the dialogues of Homer, Socrates, and 
Cicero, among the ancients ; and those of Johnson, Coleridge, 
Rogers, Southey, Burke, Mackintosh, Sydney Smith, and a host 
of others, among the moderns ! Dialogue has also been recog- 
nized in the Bible as well as in Bunyan's allegory. Talking 
and conversing are not convertible terms. Coleridge was a 
magnificent talker, and, therefore, by general consent, his 
* Harper's Magazine. 



THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITURN. 41 

friends allowed iiim to Lave it all to himself. On one occa- 
sion, lie asked Lamb if he had ever heard him preach ; to 
which he replied, " I have never heard you do anything else." 
But very few, even among illustrious men, could talk like 
Coleridge. Johnson was another authoritative talker, who 
monopolized the privilege to the exclusion of his listeners, 
among whom was often poor Goldsmith, who, like Boswell, 
regarded the great lexicographer with a species of awe, and 
his utterances as oracular. 

The Johnsonian model would not, however, be popular in our 
day, the rule of our modern social intercourse being not for the 
sake of mere gladiatorial display, to achieve a conquest in de- 
bate, but for mutual entertainment and profit. Johnson and 
Coleridge were great in monologue, but that is not colloquy ; 
and great talkers, mei'ely, have been designated " great culprits " 
in the conversational code of good manners. If good talkers 
transgress, what shall be charged against another class who 
talk a great deal, while in effect they say nothing? There 
are maxims manifold for teaching men to speak, which are 
comparatively little required, since nature prompts us to utter- 
ance ; but few suggest the superior wisdom of maintaining a 
judicious silence, which requires the restraint of reason and 
prudence. " It is with narrow-souled persons as with narrow- 
necked bottles — the less they have in them the more noise 
they make in pouring it out." We have intuitively the art of 
saying much on a little, whereas few possess the wit to say 
much in a little. In the art of speaking, as in chemical science, 
condensation is strength ; and in both cases the result is at- 
tained by a process of experimental analysis. 

Presidential addresses and Parliamentary or Congressional 
harangues are celebrated specimens of the verbose, as well as tlie 
rhetorical ; and the three memorable words of a classic hero — 
" Yeni^ Vidi, Vici " — furnish a splendid specimen of the 



42 THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITURN. 

multum inj>arvo, and an example especially worthy the imita- 
tion of modern times. William, Prince of Orange, who made 
such a formidable stand against Spain, and founded the com- 
monwealth of the United Provinces, was a noble instance of a 
sagaciously silent man ; hence he is styled " "William the Silent." 
Let us glance at a few of the less venial sins of the talka- 
tive — for they are manifold, and to classify them all would re- 
quire the nice discrimination of an ethical Linnaeus. We begin 
with the babbler, who is commonly an unhappy personage him- 
self, for he has meddled too industriously with the affairs of 
others to enjoy any personal repose or satisfaction. Having 
made it the great business of his life to betray some hurtful 
secret, or aspersion on the fair fame and name of his neighbor, 
no one thinks it worth while to speak well of him. These are 
the miserable creatures who batten upon the noxious weeds 
of social life — thrive most upon pestilential rumors and the 
infectious breath of scandal ; all wholesome truth becomes 
insipid to their vitiated and depraved appetites ; and like the 
fabled Upas-tree, they diffuse the breath of poison and disease 
around them. 

Dr. Kitto exhibits scandal in its true deformity, where he 
describes it as " a compound of malignity and simulation ; 
never urging an opinion with the bold consciousness of ti'uth, 
but dealing in a monotonous jargon of half -sentences, convey- 
ing its ambiguities by emphasis ; thus confirming the evil they 
affect to deplore." Those persons who indulge this ignoble 
habit, he characterizes as " the hyenas of society, perpetually 
prowling over reputation, which is their prey ; lamenting, and 
at the same time enjoying, the ruin they create." 

The small-talkers may be subdivided into two varieties ; the 
latter class being accustomed to deal homoeopathically in the 
diluted gossip of the day. These exhibit exemplary persever- 
ance in the picking up and purveying of the smallest particles 



THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITURN. 43 

of chit-chat ; and as they are usually provident of their stores, 
they make a very little go a great way. These are among 
insufferable social nuisances — they are both parvenu and ple- 
beian, and are fit subjects for the " school for adults." 

The third class of objective talkers are such as find "flavt^s in 
diamond wit of the first waters — motes in the brightest rays of 
the mind — and beams in the eyes of Truth." Be your opinions 
what they may, however undeniable, correct, settled, or well- 
digested, they are sure to object to them. Let your opinions to- 
day be to the letter what theirs were yesterday, they instantly 
challenge their accuracy ; and if they are foiled in their argu- 
ments, they then turn their objections to the mode in which 
you have presented them. You speak unaffectedly, and they 
censure you for mediocrity, plainness, and want of spirit ; talk 
in ornate phrase, and your style is stilted and artificial ; if 
your utterance is slow and deliberate, you are a drawling pro- 
ser ; if quick and fluent, your impetuosity is unendurable, and 
an equal offence to their immaculate taste. You modestly 
betray that you are well read in the classics, and they accuse 
you of pedantry ; you conceal your bibliographical knowledge, 
and you are at once suspected of gross ignorance, both of men 
and books. You bring them old opinions, and they doubt 
whether you have any of your own ; you deal in new ones, and 
they object to them as unsound. 

Others are constantly indulging in interrogatives ; all they 
have to propose is in the catechetical form. These, we need 
scarcely remark, are of a naturally inquisitive turn of mind ; 
they are most indefatigable searchers after truth : they are the 
most diligent in the pursuit of knowledge, and no difficulties im- 
pede their attainments. Curiosity is said to be a national char- 
acteristic, at least with the eastern portion of our country ; but 
it is, perhaps, a universal attribute of the female sex. Women, 
by the way, are strange enigmas ; for they are most skilful in 



44 THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITURN. 

extracting secrets ; yet who discover so little tact in retaining 
them? They are less ingenuous than the Hibernian, who ex- 
cused himself for revealing a confidential matter committed to 
him, by frankly avowing that, as he found he could not keep 
the secret himself, he transferred it to his friend to retain it 
for him. Exclusive talkers are the bores nf society ; they gen- 
erally have it all to themselves, and all thei.v own way, for no- 
body is allowed to " divide the honors " with them. Though 
you know already everything he is saying, you cannot, by any 
chance, add to his marvellous stock of information. He is a per- 
fect cyclopaedia of general knowledge ; and, of course, is abun- 
dantly competent to instruct the unenlightened wherever he 
goes. If you essay to relate an anecdote or incident, he 
snatches it out of your mouth, and tells it for you, with the 
accompanying embellishments of his own extempore wit ; and 
should 3"0u urge, after its recital, that his was a different ver- 
sion of the story, and seek to rehearse it in your own way, he 
knows the other version as well as you do, and insists upon his 
own repetition. With such an incorrigible talker, it is a seri- 
ous mistake to venture any suggestion of the kind, since one 
anecdote leads by concatenation to a score of others, and thus 
you unwittingly subject yourself to furtlier annoyance. 

Another variety of the talkative is the exaggerator, — one who 
despises the common run of phrases, and deals in grandiloquent 
terms and high-flown metaphors. He is an extravaganza in the 
social circle ; everything he utters is invested with hyperlx)le 
and glowing imagery ; he scorns all colloquial phrases, and re- 
gards everything below his exalted standard mean and inex- 
pressive. AVhatever he has to say must be tinted up couleur 
de rose / yet, while his habitual indulgence in superlatives and 
expletives gi\^es spirit and force to his descriptions, it is ex- 
ceedingly dangerous to admit his statements too literally. 
Even the witty cannot always appreciate his humor, and mat- 



THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITUEN. 45 

ter-of-fact people are at once utterly nonplussed at his extrava- 
gance. A talker of this class is, however, amusing in com- 
pany, for people must relax sometimes, or the consequences 
would prove fatal to their nervous system. That delicate 
machinery, by the way, has a severe ordeal to pass through in 
the wear and tear of life. Lord Brougham once said, no man 
has any right to a nervous system, who does not possess two 
thousand a year ; and we believe he was not far from just in 
his discrimination ; for while we pay especial regard to the 
well-being of the stomach, we sadly neglect our more sensitive 
nerves. A little nonsense, therefore, occasionally, may not be 
inadmissible, when it can be thus harmlessly indulged./ Non- 
sense is to sense as shade to light — it heightens effect./ ' 

This art of vividly magnifying minor objects into exagger- 
ated importance, by exhibiting them through a kind of mental 
microscope, has a charm for the fireside. It presents things in 
grotesque and monstrous distortion, which cannot fail of ex- 
citing our risible faculties. Dean Swift was, perhaps, the 
greatest specimen of this style of talking. This habit, of exag- 
gerating a statement beyond its exact limits, is one of the most 
common of colloquial misdemeanors. Some souls seem too 
big for their bodies — every thing must be in extenso / hence 
they transcend the restrictive limits of reality, and bound off 
into the regions of the ideal. Sticklers for matter-of-fact are, 
perhaps, equally tenacious of the opposite extreme ; and they 
are no less obnoxious to good taste : they are as rigidly literal 
as the former are poetical. They evince a false zeal for truth, 
for they again leap beyond its limits, in their eager pursuit of 
details. With all their professed antipathy to exaggeration, 
they become culpable in the very thing they repudiate. The 
man who would measure a hair or weigh a feather, is as guilty 
of an hyperbole as he who would transcend the just propor- 
tions of truth. 



46 THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITUEN. 

Among minor varieties might be classed the slow-talker, 
whose drawling accents make even the very atmosphere 
drowsy, and whose provoking prolixity is tantalizing to the 
most patient of listeners. Then there is the loud talker, whose 
lack of sense and modesty he vainly thinks to disguise in 
" sound and fury signifying nothing." 

There is yet another class, who are in the habit of violating 
good taste and decorum by the ever-recurring use of outre and 
unintelligible terms — flowers of speech — exotics from all the 
living languages, as well as the dead. These scorn the usual 
phrases of our vernacular, however inapt their adoption may 
be of foreign terms. 

The injudicious and excessive use of foreign phrases evinces 
a very questionable taste, and is characteristic of pedantry and 
a love of display, which those who value their reputation for 
scholarship ought scrupulously to avoid. We confess ourselves 
too charitably inclined to exhibit the foibles incident to another 
unfortunate class, who are prone to a fatal habit of telling 
what they have to say inopportunely, or who are frequently 
liable to perpetrate bad puns, and worse jokes, at which no 
one can even force a spasmodic laugh, for we all know Dr. 
Johnson's depreciative estimate of their character. They have 
but one exclusive privilege, of which most evince a ready pro- 
clivity to avail themselves — that of laughing at their own point- 
less puns. Yet Charles Lamb defends this right in the fol- 
lowing wise : " That a man must not laugh at his own jest is 
surely the severest exaction ever invented upon the self-denial 
of poor human nature. This is to expect a gentleman to give 
a treat without partaking of it, to sit esurient at his own 
iable, and commend the flavor of his own venison upon the 
absurd strength of never touching it himself. On the contrary, 
we love to see a wag taste his own joke to his party." 

Having disposed of our garrulous friends, what shall we say 



THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITURN. 47 

of the incommunicative ? — those inane beings who so admirably 
supply the lack of statuary in the boudoir or library. Among 
this class are the men of elongated and lugubrious visage, who 
frown out of existence even the scintillation of a smile, and 
" shut up " every facetious mouth, however highly charged it 
may be with intellectual electricity, deferring to the taci- 
turnity of the British, Sydney Smith remarks, " There is nothr 
ing which an Englishman more enjoys than the pleasure of 
sulkiness — of not being forced to hear a word from anybody 
which may occasion him the necessity of replying. It is not so 
much that Mr. Bull disdains to talk, as that Mr. Bull has noth- 
ing to say. His forefathers have been out of spirits for six or 
seven hundred years ; and, seeing nothing but fog and vapor, 
he is out of spirits, too ; and when there is no selling or buying, 
or no business to settle, he prefers being alone and looking at 
the fire." The taciturn, whatever be their minor idiosyncra- 
sies, are social dampers ; they repress the utterances of the 
heart wherever their influence extends. If a man be endued 
with a tongue and brains, it is fair to infer they were designed 
for use ; an incorrigible mute, therefore, sins against himself, 
as well as society. Some persons very modestly shelter them- 
selves under the plea that their silence is caused by their 
laborious habit of thinking ; we regard this apology as apocry- 
phal at the best ; for any man who has, however little, of the 
Promethean fire in him, must throw off sparks sometimes. 
Some of these wordless men vainly seek to atone for their 
provoking silence by assuming an interminable and senseless 
smile ; others, again, sit in stolid indifference, looking as vapid 
and unimpressible as they probably are in reality. 

There is another variety who absurdly obtrude themselves 
and their private affairs on the attention of a mixed company, 
than which nothing can be more injudicious or indelicate. 
Others lie in wait for every opportunity to proclaim their own 



48 THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITUEN. 

adroitness and wit, and are ever on the alert to elicit commen- 
dation and compliments. Some boast their gift of prescience ; 
they challenge us to remember they always foretold what 
would happen in such a case, but none would believe them ; 
they advised such a person from the beginning, and told him 
the consequences would be j ust as they happened, but he would 
have his own way. Others, again, have a singular weakness or 
vanity of telling their own frailties and faults : " they are the 
strangest of all strange people— they cannot dissemble ; they 
own it is a folly — they have lost advantages by it — but if you 
would give them the world, they cannot help it." 

To preserve a judicious silence is a very essential requisite in 
refined and polite society ; this silence is not, of course, sullen 
or supercilious, but graceful and eloquent. 

Having taken our exceptions to offenders against good man- 
ners in the matter of conversation, we will now venture to offer 
a few hints for the uninitiated. Conversation is one of the 
polite arts of life, its end and aim being the cultivation of 
the graces and attractions of social life ; he that possesses con- 
versational powers in the highest degree, therefore, becomes a 
most efficient agent in imparting pleasure, and in contributing 
to the improvement of society. Yery much of our colloquial 
intercourse, however, consists of mere gossip, and gossip of the 
most trivial kind — such as the state of the weather, the prevail- 
ing on dits of the newspapers, and the costumes and domestic 
affairs of our neighbors, etc. Unless our conversational topics 
rise to a higher level, with a flavor of the intellectual, sea- 
soned with a little Attic salt, it will be in vain to hope for im- 
provement. The fixed conventionalities and phrases of fash- 
ionable life do little more than add a superficial polish to the 
inanities and platitudes which form the common staple of ordi- 
nary social intercourse. Fashionable conversation is, indeed, a 
sacrifice to etiquette, as that of low-life is to vulgarity ; it is in 



THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITURN. 49 

the "golden mean" of cultivated society that the best conversers 
are to be found. Women are invested with privileges in the 
social circle above those of the opposite sex, for they challenge 
both your logic and your gallantry. If you confront their 
opinions with the first, you are silenced by the second ; it is 
therefore safer to surrender the contest at discretion. 

Two things seem essential to the possession of good conversa- 
tional powers — a competent knowledge of men and books, and 
a felicitous habit of expression ; the former is to be acquired by 
observation and study ; while the latter is more commonly an 
intuitive gift. Topics npon which to descant are manifold and 
various ; the whole realm of nature and art, the boundless re- 
sources of knowledge, and the numberless incidents, phases, and 
accidents of human life, as well as the myriad forms of imagery 
that people the regions of thought and fancy — all supply themes 
of interesting discussion. What, for example, could afford 
subjects more pleasing or fertile for a quiet and sociable tete-d- 
tete than the variegated treasures of Flora, the ever-changing 
and exquisite beauties of natural scenery, the investigations of 
pure science, and the accumulated wealth of human lore ? If 
anecdote and humor are the pearls of polite conversation, the 
above-named constitute the pure gold for their setting, reflect- 
ing a tenfold splendor. Those, therefore, who are aufait at 
repartee, or who fill up the pauses which occur in graver dis- 
cussions by brilliant flashes of extempore wit, or a piquant 
story, good-natured sarcasm, or playful satire, achieve no in- 
considerable service in the social gathering. The circumstan- 
ces of time, place, and the character of the company, ought, of 
course, ever to govern the choice of topics, and the manner and 
method of their presentation. It would be absurd to expound 
a problem of Euclid to an elderly lady whose sphere of attain- 
ments never stretched beyond the details of the dormitory or 
the duties of her domicil ; and it would be equally inconsist 
4 



50 THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITURN. 

ent to attempt a grave dissertation on the treasures bidden in 
the heart of the earth, to a fair nymph in love, whose interests 
lie all concentrated and clustered in the devoted heart of her 
lover. " Talk not to a physician of music, nor of medicine to 
a fiddler, unless the fiddler should be sick, and the physician 
at a concert. He that speaks only of such subjects as are fa- 
miliar to himself, treats the company as the stork did the fox, 
presenting an entertainment to him in a deep pitcher, out of 
v^^hich no creature could feed but a long-billed fowl." * 

Fulsome flattery, and all kinds of extravagant compliment, 
are as obnoxious to good taste as the baneful practice of in- 
dulging hadinage, or personal invective. To a well-balanced 
and educated man, the cultivated society of the opposite sex 
offers the highest possible attractions ; for, in addition to the 
advantages to be derived from the interchange of elevated 
thought and sentiment, the most fascinating arts and graces are 
exhibited, which exert a reciprocal and powerful influence, im- 
parting a brilliancy and cliarm to everything that is spoken. 
If to excel in the art of pleasing be the secret of success in 
that of conversation, commend us not infrequently to the re- 
fining elegance and challenging graces of educated women: 
in such a school of the art, the pupil who should fail of 
academic honors, would assuredly prove himself unworthy to 
share them. Among the most delightful of mental recreatives 
may be classed the exhilarating pleasures of intellectual inter- 
course ; they constitute the very life-fluid of our social being.. 

Authors, as a general rule, do not shine with special bril- 
liancy in the social firmament ; no dazzling coruscations of their 
wit and wisdom burst upon us like meteoric showers, illumining 
the darkness. The biographies of men of letters in a great 
measure confirm this, and confirm also tine suggestion of Haz- 
litt, where he says: "Authors ought to be read, and not 
* Jones of Nayland. 



THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITUEN. 51 

heard." Yet there have been some notable exceptions; for 
instance, Johnson, Mackintosh, Sheridan, Steele, Swift, Ma- 
caulay, Robert Hall, and Dickens, not forgetting the " golden- 
mouthed " Coleridge. These were an order of illustrious talkers ; 
they were as eloquent with their tongue, as with their pen. 

Madame de Stael was as brilliant as she was ambitious in 
conversation. On a certain occasion a person was introduced 
to her, upon whom she was anxious to make an impression. 
Madame asked a thousand questions, and kept up such an un- 
ceasing flow of talk that she forgot to wait for any response 
fi'om her visitor ; when the interview was over, she was asked 
how she liked her new acquaintance. " Oh, a most delightful 
personage ; what wit and learning ! '•' was the reply, (the visi- 
tor was both deaf and dumb ! ) 

On the other hand, most of the eminent writers who have 
made such a noise in the world, in past and modern .times, 
have been mere mutes in the social circle. Such were, among 
others. Goldsmith, Jeffrey, Dante, Alfieri, Marmontel, Rous- 
seau, Descartes, Lafontaine, Corneille, Addison, and Butler. 
Wit on paper seems to be something widely different from that 
play of words in conversation which, while it sparkles, dies. 
Charles II. was so charmed with Hvdibras that he sought an 
introduction, incognito, to Butler, its author ; he found him so 
dull and incommunicative that he said, at the close of the in- 
terview, he did not believe so stupid a fellow could have writ- 
ten so clever a book. Foster, the essayist, speaking of Robert 
Hall and Coleridge, said : " Hall used language as an emperor. 
He said to his words, go, and come, imperially, and they 
obeyed his bidding. Coleridge used his words as a necro- 
mancer, so aerial and unearthly were their embodiments and 
subjects." 

Sir William Temple has well said : " The first ingredient in 
conversation is truth, the next, good sense, the third, good 



52 THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITURN. 

humor, and the fourth, wit." In the same spirit, Steele re- 
marks : " Beauty is never so lovely as when adorned with the 
smile; so conversation never sits easier upon us than when 
we now and then discharge ourselves in a symphony of laugh- 
ter, which may not improperly be called the chorus of conver- 
sation." But one of the best rules in conversation is, never to 
say a thing which any of the company could reasonably wish 
had not been said. It is much better to reflect before we 
speak, than to speak before we reflect. The tongue is a little 
member, but of prodigious importance to us ; and although it 
is the willing instrument of love or hate, of peace or war — yet 
how many are derelict in the duty of its proper government. 
The tongue is also an index of character ; like the face, it dis- 
covers the condition — healthy or diseased — of the mind as well 
as the body ; its curative treatment, therefore, should be both 
physical and metaphysical. Cato said : " I think it the first vir- 
tue to restrain the tongue." Sometimes a bridle is as needful 
for the human tongue as a bit for the horse's mouth, since 
both occasionally require a " check-rein." 

There is another way of looking at some reticent people — 
such unimpeachable persons, for instance, as Hawthorne, Ir- 
ving, Prescott, Tennyson, and others ; taciturnity is pardonable 
— nay, profitable — with them, for it means wisdom. It has been 
said, " There is no sociability like the free companionship of 
silent men ; " which means that they speak only when they have 
something to say. These are they who talk the least, and do 
the most. Among the reticent, there are also shades of differ- 
ence ; for another variety might be named, of which Thackeray 
and Theodore Hook, Charles Lamb and Hood, are illustrations. 
Although they were unrivalled at repartee and humor at the 
club, yet at a more public assemblage they rarely ventured 
speechifying. Dickens seems to have been a rare exception to 
this peculiarity, among the literati, since he was as prompt to 



THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITURN. 53 

improvise a dinner-speech as to furnisli manuscript for the 
printer. Chaucer was more facetious in his tales than in his 
talk ; and the Countess of Pembroke used to rally him by say- 
ing, that his silence was more agreeable to her than his conver- 
sation. Dryden has confessed that he was dull and saturnine 
in society ; and even Milton, with his " arabesque mind," was 
unsocial and occasionally irritable. It seems like a psycho- 
logical problem, that those who have been so amply endowed 
with intellectual gifts should be apparently so incapable of 
imparting the benefit of their acquisition to others. Irving, 
however, gives a high testimony to the social character of 
Scott, a tribute, indeed, that might with equal propriety be ap- 
plied to himself. On his visit to Abbotsf ord, he says of Scott : 
" His conversation was frank, hearty, picturesque, and dra- 
matic. He never talked for effect or display, but from the 
flow of liis spirits, the stores of his imagination. He was as 
good a listener as a talker ; appreciated everything that others 
said, however humble might be their rank and pretensions, and 
was quick to testify his perception of any point in their dis- 
course. No one's concerns, no one's thoughts and opinions, no 
one's tastes and pleasures, seemed beneath him. He made 
himself so thoroughly the companion of those with whom he 
happened to be, that they forgot, for a time, his vast superi- 
ority, and only recollected and wondered, when all was over, 
that it was Scott with whom they had b3en on such familiar 
terms, in whose society they had felt so perfectly at ease." 

Lastly, we may just briefly refer to a modern heresy in our 
social intercourse caused by the rules of etiquette, which make, 
snch hypocritical pretences, that our so-called fashionable life 
becomes a mere masquerade. Scarcely any one, in that 
charmed circle, but acts his part in a theatrical disguise ; and 
these disguises begin even with the nursery, and continue 
throughout each successive stage down to the grave. !We are 



54 



THE TALKATIVE AND THE TACITUBN. 



therefore not what we seem ;/' and this is in consequence of our 
artificial, conventional usages, and our surveillance to a false 
code of morals. Are not these delusions and deceptions — 
practical moral frauds, and is not our standard of, so called, 
polite life chargeable with this systematic deceit? "Why 
should we tolerate, much less approve, deception in speech, 
any more than in heart . and life ? 





CITATIONS FROM THE 
CEMETEEIES. 



" Where the end of earthly things 
Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings 1 
Where, stiif the hand, and still the tongue 
Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung 1 " 

Scott. 



Cemetekies have been poetically styled the " holy suburbs of 
the Celestial City,-]/-the border land of that better country that 
lies beyond the river of death ! " The name, Cemetery^ is de- 
rived from the Greek, and means a sleeping place. As opposed 
to the Pagan civilizations, the Jews styled their burial-places, — 
Beth hahaim, — the house of the living : and the same idea of 
repose or sleeping is indicated by the numerous inscriptions of 
the catacombs. With most of the nations of Christendom our 
places of sepulture are indicated by the symbolic Cross, point- 
ing to a life to come. The Germans designate their burial 



56 CITATIONS FROM THE CEMETERIES. 

grounds — Gottes-acJcer, and Longfellow has beautifully em- 
balmed the name in melodious verse. 

" God's acre ! yes, that blessed name Imparts 

Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown 
The seed that they had garnered in their hearts, 
Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own ! " 

These hallowed places have also been styled ^^ Silent Cities.'''' 
Silent, indeed, are they, although peopled with multitudes of 
forms once beautiful and surprised with life and vocal with the 
music of human speech. Even the sweet prattle of infancy, 
and the tender responses of a mother's enduring love are now 
no longer heard. Alas ! all voices are hushed in the unbroken 
stillness of death ! Yet there is a mystic voice from the tomb 
that comes to the heart sweeter than song. " There is a fond 
remembrance of the dead, to which we turn, even from the 
charms of the living." It is this hallowed bond that links the 
living with the dead, in perpetual memory ; we pay our accus- 
tomed visits to the sleeping forms of our departed ones, as we 
do to those who still lend the lig}\t of their smiles, and the mu 
sic of their kindly speech to bless our earthly life. ; We love to 
make pilgrimages to these shrines of our affection./ 

There is scarcely any subject of more touching interest, or 
one that awakens a deeper sympathy in the human heart. If 
we may not hold intercourse with the venerated dead, the mind 
is instinctively beguiled into a reverie so irresistibly bewitching, 
that we seem to share a silent colloquy with our loved and lost 
ones. We chant with Campbell, 

" That's hallowed ground where, mourned and missed, 
The lips repose our love has kissed ; 
But Where's their memory's mansion ? la't 

Yon churchyard bowers ? 
No ! in ourselves their souls exist, 
A part of ours." 



CITATIONS FROM THE CEMETERIES. 57 

Our thoughts are evermore tending to the grave and its mys- 
teries ; and, like our past hours, troop onward, often unbidden, 
to the day when we, too, shall attain to the realm of the un- 
known. Some of our greatest poems, indeed, are monodies 
and elegiac refrains : yet with the cheering Christian philoso- 
phy of Wordsworth, we need not hang our harps upon the wil- 
lows; for 

" Sin-bUghted though we are, we, too, the reasoning sons of men, 
From our oblivious winter called, shall rise and breathe again ; 
And, in eternal summer, lose our three-score years and ten I " 

The academic groves of Greece wei*e made, in part, the 
resting-places of their honored dead. Amid these leafy shades, 
sacred to learning and philosophy, they buried their heroes and 
poets. In these hallowed precincts Plato and his pupils were 
accustomed to convene. The first place of worship in the 
Acropolis of Athens was the sepulchre of Cecrops. It may be 
fairly inferred, that the tombs of the Athenians were the origin 
of their temples. 

The Romans frequently buried their dead on either side of 
the Appian Way, and over their tombs they were accustomed 
to place the monumental urn. Decking the graves of the 
deceased with flowers, was a custom observed among the 
Greeks and Romans. 

" In olden time no blossoms were planted where the dead 
were sleeping, and no grounds were laid out with mounds, 
ravines, and running streams. The place was only a ' grave- 
yard,' surrounded with a rough stone-wall, within which bushes 
and brambles grew in rank luxuriance. But to-day, the army 
of flowers, with its bright and beautiful banners, has charged 
upon the thorny hosts of bramble, bush, and briar, and driving 
them from ' God's acre,' has set a guard of statuary at the gates 
of the cemetery." * 

* J. H. Smith. 



58 CITATIONS FROM THE CEMETERIES. 

The fragrant flowers, symbolic of undying affection, and of 
a resurrection — life, make an eloquent and persuasive appeal 
to bereaved and sorrowing hearts. 

It is a custom fraught with the most delightful associations ; 
and induces an elevation of sentiment and a poetry of feeling, 
equally calculated to mollify our grief, and to invest the sep- 
ulchre with the kindling emotions of hope and immortality. 

" We adorn our graves," says Evelyn, " with flowers and re- 
dolent plants, just emblems of the life of man, which has been 
compared in the Hoi}'' Scriptures to those fading beauties, 
whose roots, being buried in dishonor, rise again in glory." 

" Those token flowers that tell 
What words could never speak so well," 

in earlier times were rendered peculiarly expressive of the cir- 
cumstances of the deceased ; for example, at the funeral of a 
young girl, the cliaplet- wreath of white roses was borne by one 
of her own sex and age before the corpse, the token of virgin 
purity and innocence, and afterwards hung over her accus- 
tomed seat at the church. The rose was also sometimes 
blended with- the lily, as the emblem of frail mortality ; the 
red rose for such as had been remarkable for benevolence; 
and when it was intended to betoken the hapless loves or sor- 
rows of the departed, the yew and cypress were used. These 
simple floral rites seem to belong to the past rather than the 
present ; and yet instinctively the heart fondly clings to them, 
and interprets their sentiment. The stately tomb or sculptured 
mausoleum may impress the eye of the beholder by their artis- 
tic splendor and magnificence ; but those token flowers, so fi-a- 
grant and so fair, make their modest yet eloquent appeal to the 
heart of our common humanity with a power and pathos that 
is irresistible. How daintily does our great dramatist detail 
their uses : 



CITATIONS FROM THE CEilETERIES. 59 

"With fairest flowers, 
Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, 
m sweeten thy sad grave ; thou shalt not lack 
The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor 
The azured harebell, like thy veins ; no, nor 
The leaf of eglantine ; whom not to slander, 
Outsweetened not thy breath." 

Where is the heart, in its gnshings of sorrow, that would not 
as the unbidden tear bedews the sainted grave, yield to such 
spontaneous offerings of affection, and bind an osier round the 
sod ? Who would not say, with Miss Landon, " It may be a 
weakness, thougli growing out of all that is most redeeming in 
our nature — the desire that is in us, to make the city of the de- 
parted beautiful, as well as sacred. The green yew that flings 
down its shadow, the wild flowers that spring up in the long 
grass, take away from the desolation ; they are the type and 
sign of a world beyond themselves. Even as spring brings 
back the leaf to the bough, the blossom to the grass, so will a 
more glorious spring return to that which is now but a little 
human dust." 

It is good to be sometimes reminded of death, and the 
grave. A memento mori is not necessarily sad and forbid- 
ding, nor is the dirge-note always a fearful sound ; for to the 
mind rightly trained and constituted, they speak of a blissful 
hereafter, and a glorified existence, for which this is but a 
state of preparation. Knowing and /eeling this, we may stand 
in the church-yard without awe or dread, and looking through 
death's open portals into the regions of everlasting happiness 
beyond, exclaim : 

' ' The first tabernacle to Hope we will buUd, 
And look for the sleepers around us to rise ; 
The second to Faith, which ensures it fulfilled ; 
And the third to the Lamb of the great Sacrifice, 
Who bequeathed us them both when He rose to the skies." 



60 CITATIONS FROM THE CEMETERIES. 

The Christian faith is variously symbolized by the sacred 
Palm, as emblematic of victory, — the Immortelle, of eternal 
life, — the Anchor, of hope, — the Psyche, or winged insect rising 
from the chrysalis, as typical of the resurrection ; and the 
Cross, as the perpetual emblem of the Christian's earthly con- 
flict and ultimate triumph. 

But a truce to the homily ; let us now look at a few of the 
memorial records, which have been collected from various dis- 
tant districts of the dead. It was fii-st said, by the great Napo- 
leon, — and it has been often repeated, — " it is but a step from 
the sublime to the ridiculous" — and this has been not unfi*e- 
quently verified by the writers of epitaphs. As we con over 
the absurd conceits, poor puns, and fulsome eulogies that so 
often disfigure the resting-places of the departed, we almost 
wonder that the very stones do not cry out against the* folly. 
What think you, good reader, of the groupings here subjoined ? 
From Childwaid church-yard, England, this is copied : 

" Here lies me and my three daughters, 
Brought here by using Seidlitz waters ; 
If we had stuck to Epsom salts, 
We wouldn't have been ia these here vaults." 

In Norwich cathedral, is the following laconic intimation : 

" Here lies the body of honest Tom Page, 
Who died in the thirty-third year of his age." 

In Islington church-yard, near London, may be seen this dog- 
gerel triplet : 

" Pray for the soul of Gabriel John, 
Who died in the year 1601 : — 
Or if you don't, it is all one." 

The following absurd lines are said to be copied from a 
gravestone at Nettlebed church-yard, Oxfordshire : 



CITATIONS FROM THE CEIMETERIES. 61 

" Here lies father, and mother, and sister, and I, 
We all died within the space of one short year ; 
They be all buried at Wimble, except I, 
And I be buried here." 

From a gravestone at Northallerton, England, comes the fol- 
lowing : 

" Hicjacet Walter Gun, 
Sometime landlord of the Sun ; 
Sic transit gloria mundi ! 
He drank hard upon Friday, 
That being a high day — 
Then, took to his bed, and died upon Sunday." 

Here is another desperate specimen of punning upon a 
name ; it is upon the tomb of William More, at Stepney, near 
London : 

" Here lies one More, and no more than he ; 
One More, and no more, how can that be ? 
Why one More, and no more, may lie here alone, 
But here lies one more, and that's more than one." 

On the organist of St. Mary Winton College, Oxford : 

" Here lies one blown out of breath, 
Who lived a merry life, and died a Merideth ! " 

In Biddeford church-yard, Devonshire, is, or was, the follow- 
ing elegantly printed inscription, upon a certain luckless swain, 
whose name is not given : 

" The wedding-day appointed was, 

And wedding- clothes provided, 

But ere that day did come, alas ! 

He sickened, and he die did ! " 

A still swifter summons seems to have been sent by the 
"King of Terrors" to another, whose record in the church-yard 
of Seven Oaks, Kent, reads as follows : 



62 CITATIONS FROM THE CEMETERIES. 

" Grim Death took me without any warning, 
I was well at night, and dead at nine in the morning ! " 

From the same county, the following has been copied : 

" Here lies the body of Sarah Sexton, 
Who was a good wife, and never vexed one : 
I can't say that for her, at the next stone ! " 

This equivocal compliment referred to his first wife ! The 
next epitaph has an infusion of common sense in it ; it is cop- 
ied from Guildford church-j^ard : 

" Reader, pass on, ne'er waste your time 
On bad biography, and silly rhyme ; 
For what I am, this cumbrous clay ensures. 
And what I was, is no affair of yours." 

At Bur}' St. Edmund's, Suffolk, there was an old tombstone 
with this unceremonious inscription : 

" Here lies Jane Kitchen, 

Who when her glass was spent, 
She kick't up her heels 
And away she went." 

In Walford church-yard, Warwickshire, is the following on 
John Randall : 

" Here old John Randall lies, who counting by his sale. 
Lived three score years and ten, such virtue was in ale ; 
Ale was his meat, ale was his drink, ale did his heart revive, 
And could he stUl have drunk his ale, he still had been alive." 

In St. Margaret's, Westminster, is the following inscription 
to the memory of Thomas Churchyard, Laureate to Henry 
VII. : 

'' Come, Alecto, and lend me thy torch, 

To find a church-yard in a church porch ; » 

Povertie and poetrie this tomb doth enclose, — 
Therefore, gentlemen, be merrie in prose." 



CITATIONS FROM THE CEMETERIES. 63 

This expressive epitaph is taken from the old church-yard at 
Belturbet, Ireland : 

" Here lies John Higley, whose father and mother were 
drowned in their passage from America. 
Had they both lived, they would Tiave been buried here ! " 

In St. Michael's church-yard, Crooked lane, London, is the 
following laconic record : 

" Here lieth, wrapped in clay, 
The body of William Wray ; — 
I have no more to say I " 

The following admonitory voice from a tomb in Thetford 
church-yard, Norfolk, will at least be perused with interest by 
the advocates of temperance : 

" My grandfather lies buried here, 
My cousin Jane, and two uncles dear ; 
My father perished with an inflammation in his eyes, 
My sister dropt down dead in the Minories ; 

But the reason why I'm here interred, according to my thinkiiig, 
Is owing to my good living and hard drinking ! 
Therefore, good people, if you wish to live long, 
Don't drink too much wine, brandy, gin, or anything strong." 

In the church-yard of Chigwell, Essex, England, is the fol- 
lowing inscription : 

" This disease you ne'er heard tell on, 
I died by eating too much melon ; 
Be careful, then, all you that feed, — I 
Suffered because I was too greedy." 

Here is an epitaph upon a desperate toper, in a church-yard, 
at Durham, Eno-land : 



64 CITATIONS FROM THE CEMETERIES. 

" Beneath, these stones repose the bones 
Of Theodosius Grimm, 
He took his beer from year to year, 
And then his bier took him." 

Over the grave where Shakspeare's dust reposes, is inscribed 
the following well-known quaint adjuration : 

" Good friend, for Jesvs' sake forbeare, 
To digge the dvst encloased heare ; 
Blest be ye man yt spares thes stones, 
And cvrst be he yt moves my bones." 

From Handon church-yard, England, comes the following : 

"Beneath this stone, Tom Crossfield lies. 
Who cares not now who laughs or cries ; 
He laughed when sober, and when mellow, 
Was a harum-scarum harmless fellow ; 
He gave to none designed offence, 
So — ' Honi soit qui mal y pense! ' " 

The subjoined is copied from an old church-yard at Llan- 
flantwthyl, Wales : 

" Under this stone lies Meredith Morgan, 
Who blew the beUows of our church organ ; 
Tobacco he hated, to smoke most unwilling, 
Yet never so pleased as when pipes he was filling ; 
No reflection on him for rude speech could be cast, 
Though he made our old organ give many a blast. 
No puffer was he, though a capital blower. 
He could fill double G, and now lies a note lower." 

The following is certainly calculated to repress inquisitive- 
ness: 

" Here lies Pat. Steele, — that's very thrue ; 
Who was he ? What was he ? What's that to you ? " 



CITATIONS FROM THE CEMETERIES. 65 

Byron, it is said, wrote the following lines on John Adams, 
carrier, of Sonthwell : 

" Jolm Adams lies here, of the parish of Southwell, 
A carrier, who carried the can to his mouth well ; 
He carried so much, and he carried so fast, 
He could carry no more, so was carried at last ; 
For the Hquor l\e drank being too much for one, 
He could not carry off, so he's now carri-on ! " 

In St. Michael's church-yard, Aberystwith, is the following 
professional tribute to David Davies, blacksmith : 

" My sledge and hammer lay reclined. 
My bellows, too, have lost their wind, 
Myjires extinct, raj forge decayed. 
And in the dust, my vice is laid ; 
My coal is spent, my iron gone. 
My 7iails are drove, — my work is done." 

In Selby church-yard, Yorkshire, is the following memorial 
to one Miles : 

' ' This tombstone is a milestone, ah ! how so ? 
Because, beneath lies Miles, who's nailes below ! " 

At Crayford church-yard, Kent, may be seen the following, 
on the tomb of Peter Snell, for thirty-five years Parish Clerk : 

' ' The life of this clerk was just three-score and ten, 
Nearly half of which time he had sang out, amen ! 
In his youth he married, like other young men ; 
But his wife died one day — so he chaunted — amen 1 
A second he took, — she departed ; — what then ? 
He married, and buried a third, with — amen ! 
Thus his joys and his sorrows were treble, but then — 
His voice was deep bass as he sang out — amen. 
On the horn he could blow, as well as most men. 
So ' his horn was exalted,' in blowing — amen ! 
He lost all his wind, after three-score and ten, 
And here, with three wives, he waits, tUl again 
The trumpet shall rouse him, to sing out amen ! " 
5 



6Q CITATIONS FROM THE CEMETERIES. 

At Gateshead clmrch-yard, Newcastle, is the following : 

" Here lies Robert Trollop, 
Who made yon stones roU up, 
When Death took his soul up 
His body filled this hole up." 

In the grounds of Winchester cathedral, is the following 
epitaph to the memory of Thomas Fletcher : 

" Here sleeps in peace a Hampshire grenadier, 
Who caught his death by drinking cold small beer ; 
Soldiers, be wise, from his untimely fall, 
And, when you're hot, drink strong or not at all." 

In Doncaster church-yard — (1816) ! — 

" Here lies 2 brothers, by misfortin serounded, 
One died of his wounds, and the other was drownded." 

At St. Giles', Cripplegate, London, is the following poor 
attempt at punning : 

" Under this marble fair 
Lies the body entombed of Gervaise Aire : 
He dyed not of an ague fit. 
Nor surfeited by too much wit. 
Methinks this was a wondrous death. 
That Aire should die for want of breath." 

In Gloucester church-yard, it is said, may be seen the follow- 
ing: 

' ' Two lovelier babes ye ne'er did see 
Than God Almighty gave to we ; 
But they were taken with ague fits, 
And there they Ues as dead as nits." 

Ah a relief to the ludicrous specimens, just offered, we now 
turn to that splendid epitaph written, not as it had long been 



CITATIONS FROM THE CEMETERIES. 67 

believed, by Ben Jonsoii, but by Browne, author of " Britan- 
nia) s Pastorals^ "We refer to the inscription on the tomb of 
the Countess of Pembroke : 

" Underneath this sable hearse 
Lies the subject of all verse, 
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother; 
Death, ere thou hast slain another 
Fair and learned, and good as she, 
Time shaU throw a dart at thee." 



Ben Jonson wrote, however, this remarkable epitaph on 
Elizabeth L. II. : 

" Wouldst thou hear what man can say 
In a little ? Reader, stay. 
Underneath this stone doth lie 
As much beauty as could die ; 
"Which in life did harbour give 
To more virtue than doth live ; 
If, at all, she had a fault, 
Leave it buried in this vault. 
One name was Elizabeth, 
Th' other, let it sleep with death ; 
Fitter, where it died, to teU, 
Than that it lived at all, — fareweU." 

One of the finest epitaphs in our language is Collins' : 

" How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, 
By aU their country's wishes blest ! 
When spring, with dewy fingers cold. 
Returns to deck their haUowed mould ; 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod. 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 
By fairy hands their kneU is rung ; 
By forms imseen their dirge is siing ; 
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; 



68 CITATIONS FROM THE CEIVIETERIES. 

And Freedom shall awhile repair, 
To dwell a weeping hermit there ! " 

In an epitaph on a marine at Chichester, the writer has made 
an adroit turn from mortal to spiritual warfare : 

" Here lies a true soldier, whom aU must applaud, 
Much hardship he suffered at home and abroad ; 
But the hardest engagement he ever was iu, 
Was the battle of self iu the conquest of siu ! " 

Every one knows (or ought to know) Mason's fine epitaph 
on his young wife, in Bristol Cathedral : 

" Take, holy earth, all that my soul holds dear ! 

Take that best gift, which Heaven so lately gave ! 
To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care 
Her faded form : she bowed to taste the wave — 
And died ! " 

One of the finest homilies on riches ever given was the 
epitaph written in Latin, in 1579, on John of Doncaster ; we 
give the translation : 

"What I spent, I had, 
What I gave, I have, 
What I saved, I lost." 

This epitaph was inscribed on the tombstone of Joe Miller — 
the individual who is made responsible for such multitudes of 
poor jokes — who died in 1738, and was buried in the church- 
yard of St. Clement Danes : 

" If humor, wit, and honesty could save 
The humorous, witty, honest, from the grave, 
The grave had not so soon this tenant found, 
Whom honesty, and wit, and humor crowned. 
Or could esteem and love preserve our breath. 
And guard us longer from the stroke of death, — 
The stroke of death on him had later fell. 
Whom all mankind esteemed and loved so well. " 



CITATIONS FROM THE CEMETERIES. 69 

Charles Lamb, when young, was walking in a churcli-yard 
with his sister, and noting the eulogistic character of the 
epitaphs, said, " Mary, where do the naughty people lie ? " 
That question has not, we believe, been answered. 

Garrick's epitaph on Quin, in the Abbey Church, at Bath, 
has not often been exceeded : 

" The tongue which set the table in a roar, 
And charmed the public ear, is heard no more ! 
Closed are those eyes, the harbingers of wit. 
Which spake before the tongue what Shakspeare writ. 
Cold is that hand, which ever was stretched forth, 
At friendship's call, to succor modest worth. 
Here lies James Quin ! — Deign, reader, to be taught, 
Whate'er thy strength of body, force of thought ; 
In Nature's happiest mould, however cast, 
To this complexion thou must come at last ! " 

Brief monumental inscriptions are, after all, the most elo- 
,quent. What can exceed that of Sir Christopher "VVren, in St. 
Paul's Cathedral, of which he was the well-known architect : 

' ' Lector, si monumentum requiris, circumspice ! " 

and we might add that to the memory of Sir Isaac Newton : 

" Isaacum Newton quem immortalem Testantur tempus, natura, ccelum, 
mortalem hoc manner Fatetur ! " 

In the church-yard of St. Anne, Soho, London, is the follow- 
ing curious epitaph on Theodore, King of Corsica, one of the 
"Monarchs retired from business ; " it is from the pen of Hor- 
ace Walpole : " Near this place is interred Theodore, King of 
Corsica, who died in this parish, December 11, 1756 ; im- 
mediately after leaving the King's Bench prison, by the bene- 
fits of the act of Insolvency ; in consequence he registered hia 
kingdom of Corsica for the use of his creditors. 



70 CITATIONS FROM THE CEJEETERIES. 

" The Grave, great teacher, to a level brings 
Heroes and beggars, galley-slaves and kings ; 
But Theodore this moral learned, ere dead ; 
Fate poured its lessons on his living head, 
Bestowed a kingdom, and denied him bread. " 

From Cunwallow church-yard, Cornwall, is taken the fol- 
lowing inscription, which may be read in four different ways, 
up or down, backwards or forwards : 

" ShaU we aU die ? 
We shaU die aU ! 
All die shall we, 
Die aU we shall." 

The pithy epitaph on Dr. Walker^ author of a work on 
" English Particles," reads thus : 

" Here lie Walker's particles" 1 

and that on Fuller^ author of " English "Worthies," and other 
works, is : 

" Here lies Fuller's earth " I 

Garrick's celebrated epitaph on Hogarth, in Chiswick 
church-yard, is as follows : 

" Farewell, great painter of mankind, 

Who reached the noblest point of art I 
Whose pictured morals charm the mind, 

And through the eye correct the heart ! 
If genius fire thee, reader, stay — 

If Nattire touch thee, drop a tear ! 
If neither move thee, turn away, 

For Hogarth's honored dust lies here I " 

As a specimen of the terse and suggestive, we offer the 
epitaph found in Torrington church-yard, Devon : 

' ' She was — but words are wanting to say what : 
Think what a woman should be — she was that." 



CITATIONS FROM THE CEIMETEIIIES. 71 

In Llangowen church-yard, Wales, is this quaint, admonitory 
inscription : 

" Our life is but a summer's day — 
Some only breakfast, and away. 
Others to dinner stay, and are fuU fed ; 
The oldest man but sups and goes to bed. 
Large his account, who lingers out the day ; 
"^Tio goes the soonest, has the least to pay ! " 

In the church-yard of Evesham, in Oxfordshire, is the fol- 
lowing tribute, " To ye memory of her dear husband, Mr. 
John Green, gent. 1652 " : 

" Stay, reader, drop upon this stone 
One pitying tear, and then begone ! 
A handsome pUe of flesh and blood 
Is here sunk down to its first mud ; 
Which thus in Western rubbish lies, 
UntU the Eastern Star shaU rise." 

At Trenton, New Jersey, there may be seen the following 
beautifully expressive lines, inscribed over the tomb of Mrs. 
Mary Dunbar, who died in 1808 : 

" The meed of merit ne'er shall die, 
Nor modest worth neglected lie. 
The fame that pious virtue gives. 
The Memphian monuments outlives. 
Reader, wouldst thou secure such praise, 
Go, learn Religion's pleasant ways." 

Franklin's famous epitaph, so often printed, was probably 
suggested to his mind, after his recovery from the severe 
attack of pleurisy, in 1729, The following is a correct copy : 
" The body of Benjamin Franklin, printer, (like the cover of 
an old book, its contents torn out, and stript of its lettering 
and gilding.) lies here food tor worms ! Yet the work itself 



72 CITATIONS FROM THE CEJIETERIES. 

shall not be lost, for it will, as he believed, appear once more, 
in a new and more beautiful edition, corrected and amended 
bj The Author." This grotesque epitaph was not, however, 
inscribed on his tomb. 

Perhaps the most witty and satirical of all epitaphs is that 
one in Bath cathedral, which must be almost sufficient to 
frighten some nervous invalids from the city : 

"These walls, adorned with monumental bust, 
Show how Bath waters serve to lay the dust." 

Willis thus poetically pictures to us the burial place of 
Shelley and Keats : " With a cloudless sky, and the most 
delicious air ever breathed, we sat down upon the marble slab 
laid over the ashes of poor Shelley, and read his own lament 
over Keats, who sleeps just below, at the foot of the hill. The 
cemetery is rudely formed into three terraces, with walks 
between ; and Shelley's grave, and one without a name, occupy 
a small nook above, made by the projection of a mouldering 
wall-tower, and crowded with ivy and shrubs, and a peculiarly 
fragrant yellow flower, which perfumes the air around for 
several feet. The avenue by which you ascend from the gate 
is lined with high bushes of the marsh-rose, in the most 
luxuriant bloom, and all over the cemetery the grass is thickly 
mingled with flowers of every hue." In his preface to his 
lament over Keats, Shelley says : " He was buried in the 
romantic and lovely Cemetery of the Protestants ; under the 
pyramid which is the tomb of Astius, and the massy walls and 
towers, now mouldering and desolate, which formed the circuit 
of ancient Rome. It is an open space among the ruins, cov- 
ered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in 
love with death to think that one should he huried in so sweet 
ajplaceP If Shelley had chosen his own grave at the time, he 



CITATIONS FROM TKE CEilETEEIES. 73 

would have selected the very spot where he has since been 
laid — the most sequestered and flowery nook of the place he 
describes so feelingly. In the last verses of the elegy, he 
speaks of it again with the same feeling of its beauty : 

" Go thou to Rome, — at once the Paradise, 
The grave, the city, and the wildemess ; 
And where its wrecks Uke shattered moiratains rise, 
And flowering weeds and fragrant copses dreas 
The bones of Desolation's nakedness, 
Pass, tUl the spirit of the spot shall lead 

Thy footsteps to a slope of green access, 
Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead 
A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread." 

The cemetery at Stoke Newington acquires peculiar interest 
from the circumstance of its having been formed in Abney 
Park, where Dr. Watts so frequently strolled during his long 
residence at the hospitable mansion of Sir Thomas Abney. 
The west of London, and Westminster Cemetery, differ from all 
the modern burial places around the metropolis. The grounds 
are very beautifully laid out in the Italian style : its chapel, 
monuments, and other buildings, are very imposing. The en- 
closure, in the neighborhood of Highgate, is the North Lon- 
don Cemetery. Its leading feature is a small chapel, with an 
octangular and ornamental dome. A beautiful window of 
painted glass, representing the ascension of our Saviour, adorns 
its extremity. Column, pyramid, sarcophagus, tomb, vase, and 
sculptured stone, arrest the eye, while a gigantic mound is seen 
canopied with a goodly cedar ; and the beautiful Gothic church 
crowning the brow of the hill, with its heaven-directed spire, 
peers above the upper verge of this sainted place of graves. 
Beauty and death appear, in this lovely spot, to have entered 
into a compact together. 

Bunhill-fields bm-ial ground, London, has been called the 



74 CITATIONS FROM THE CEMETERIES. 

" Campo Santo " of the dissenters ; since the ashes of the great 
Non-conformist clergy and friends of civil liberty repose there. 
Among memorable names recorded there are those of Bunyan, 
De Foe, General Fleetwood, Owen, Goodwin, and Watts, the 
hymnist, with an innumerable company of others of cherished 
memory. Kensall Chreen is one of the most beautiful ceme- 
teries of the British metropolis. 

The great cemetery of Pere la Chaise was consecrated as a 
public place of sepulture in 1804 : it derived its present name 
from the favorite confessor to Louis XrV. and Madame de 
Maintenon. "Within its boundaries formerly stood an establish- 
ment belonging to the Jesuits, called the " Maison de Mont 
Louisy Subsequently, 1763, on the suppression of the order, 
the estate was sold, and passing into the hands of the public au- 
thorities, it became applied to its present purpose. 

How much better is it to place the remains of our loved 
ones beneath the green sod and the blue canopy of heaven 
than in crowded crypts and corners of an antique abbey — the 
open temple of nature than the contracted one of art. In the 
beautiful open cemetery, festooned with richest foliage, and 
glorified with sunshine, sweet flowers, and the songs of birds, — 
all that can neutralize the gloom of death is accomplished, 
while the faith of immortality is thereby beautifully symbo- 
lized. 

To the lovers of rural beauty, the sequestered shades of 
Greenwood have an indescribable fascination. Standing at the 
eastern verge of this Necropolis, on Ocean Hill, where the re- 
mains of the missionary Abeel sleep under a column, we look 
off through Sycamore Grove, and Grassy Dell, and beyond 
Highland Avenue, to the elevation, where death won so many, 
long ago, in the battle of Long Island, and where now sleep, 
with their brothers of the Revolutionary strife, the heroes who 
fell in Mexico — all their conflicts ended now, and they in the 



CITATIONS FROM. THE CEJIETERIES. 76 

rest, which would be eternal, but for that last trurupet, which 
shall startle all the armies to the grand and ultimate review. 
A more pleasing emotion is awakened as we pause, in that 
vicinity, by the temple in which art has sought to tell the 
mournful history of the sudden death of beauty's idol. Miss 
Canda ; or, near Sylvan Bluff, by the monument which Catliu 
has reared over the relics of his heroic wife, who for seven 
years accompanied him on his wild and hazardous journeys 
among the Red men of the wilderness. There are all condi- 
tions, all varieties, in death, as in life, and the wanderer in 
Greenwood turns from the graves we have mentioned to that 
of the beautiful Indian, Do-ktcm-me, who came to see the white 
man's palaces, and to die. It is down by the margin of Sylvan 
Lake, and close by it is the modest column erected to " poor 
MacDonald Clarke," in whose numbers, if there was " more of 
madness, and more of melancholy," there was also more Prome- 
thean fire than glows in some of the works of greater fame. 

Like our magnificent Greenwood, Mount Auburn is also 
a beautiful garden of graves : where variegated splendors of 
nature and art combined arrest the delighted eye on every side. 
Upland, lawn, and vale, fountain, lake, and sylvan stream, inter- 
mingled with shaft, stately mausoleum, and sculptured tomb, are 
everywhere embowered amid the over-arching foliage, while 
the sod is garnished with floral, fragrant gems of dazzling 
beauty. 

Here repose the ashes of many a sainted name ; and here, 
too, may be found many a touching record of departed worth ; 
Spurzheim's monument is the first that greets the eye of the 
visitor as he enters the enclosure. Laurel Hill Cemetery is to 
Philadelphia what Mount Auburn is to Boston in its natural 
and artificial beauties. 

Both Wordsworth and Rogers much admired the stanzas on 
life, by Mrs. Barbauld, — the last, it is believed, that she wrote. 



76 CITATIONS FROM THE CEMETERIES. 

The thought of life looking iu upon you with a glad greeting, 
is both Christian and cheerful ; for life's glorious resurrection is 
its second morning. 

" Life ! we've been long together, 
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 
'Tis hard to part, when friends are dear, — 
Perhaps, 'twill cost a sigh, a tear : 

" Then steal away, give little warning, 
Choose thine own time, 

Say not ' Good night ! ' but in some brighter clime, 
Bid me — ' Good morning ' ! " 

Having conned over a number of mortuary memorials, and 
epitaphs, sentimental and absurd, serious and trifling, we come 
to the conclusion, with Pope, that, 

" Praises on tombs are trifles vainly spent, 
A man's good name is his best monument." 

The early Christians inscribed on the tombs of their departed 
friends the expressive words, " Mors janua Vitce ! " (Death is 
the gate of Life ! ) And Addison has sung to us of the immor- 
tality of the soul in a strain worthy of the theme : 

' ' The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years ; 
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth. 
Unhurt, amidst the wars of elements, 
The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds ! " 

We close our chapter on these mementos of mortality with 
the following impressive passage from the London Eclectic : 

" How beautiful is the memory of the dead ! What a holy 
thing it is in the human heart, and what a chastening influence 
it slieds upon human life! How it subdues all the harshness 
that grows up within us in our daily intercourse with the world ! 
How it melts our unkindness, softens our pride, kindling our 



CITATIONS FROM THE CEMETERIES. 77 

deepest love, and waking our highest aspirations ! Is there one 
who has not some loved friend gone into the eternal world, with 
whom he delights to live again in memory? Does he not love 
to sit down in the hushed and tranquil hours of existence, and 
call around him the face, the form, so familiar and cherished 
— to look into the eye that mirrored not more clearly his own 
face than the soul which he loves — to listen to the tones which 
he loves to listen to, the tones which were once melody in his 
ear, and have echoed softly in his ear since they were hushed 
to his senses ? Is there a spirit to which heaven is not brought 
nearer by holding some kindred soul ? How friend follows 
friend into the happy dwelling-place of the dead, till we find at 
length that they who loved us on the heavenly shore are more 
than they who dwell among us ! Every year witnesses the de- 
parture of some one whom we knew and loved ; and when we 
recall the names of all who have been near to us in life, how 
many of them we see passed into that city which is imperish- 
able! 

'' The blessed dead ! how free from stain is our love for 
them ! The earthly taint of our affections is buried with that 
which was corruptible, and the divine flame, in its purity, illu- 
mines our breast We have now no fear of losing them. They 
are fixed for us eternally in the mansions prepared for our re- 
union. We shall find them waiting for us, in their garments of 
beauty. The glorious dead ! how reverently we speak their 
names! Our hearts are sanctified by their words, which we re- 
member. How wise they have now grown in the limitless fields 
of truth ! How joyous they have become, by the undying 
fountains of pleasure ! The immortal dead ! how unchanging 
is their love for us ! How tenderly they look down upon us, 
and how closely they surround our being ! How earnestly they 
rebuke the evil of our lives. 

" Let men talk pleasantly of the dead, as those who no longer 



iS CITATIONS FROM THE CEMETERIES. 

suffer and are tried — as those who pursue no longer the fleet- 
ing, but have grasped and secured the real. "With them the 
fear and the longing, the hope, and the terror, and the pain are 
past : the fruition of life has begun. How unkind, that when 
we put away their bodies, we should cease the utterance of their 
names. The tender-hearted dead who struggle so in parting 
from us ! why should we speak of them in awe, and remember 
them only with sighing ? Very dear were they when hand 
clasped hand, and heart responded to heart. Why are they less 
dear, when they have grown worthy a higher love than ours ? 
By their hearth-side, and by their grave-side, in solitude, and 
amid the multitude, think cheerfully and speak lovingly of the 
dead." 

' ' We die and disappear ! 

Of myriads passed within the veU, but one 
Has e'er returned the mystery to clear ! 

He — God's incarnate Son ! 
Then was the dark obscure made light, 

O'er Death and Grave the victory was won, 
And life immortal brought to light ! " 





A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 



" Oh 1 magic of love I unembellished by you, 
Has the garden a blush, or the herbage a hue ? 
Or blooms there a prospect in nature, or art, 
Like the vista that shinea through the eye to the heart f " — Moore. 



Although Cupid cannot be said to be young, yet he seems 
to enjoy perpetual youth, for he is not in the least the worse 
for wear, — his locks are still golden, his cheeks glowing, and 
the bright kindling glance of his eye is as radiant as ever ; 
while his votaries are even more numerous than they have been 
in any previous age of the world : we therefore venture to hope 
that our theme may not prove " weary, stale, flat, and unprofit- 
able," at least to our fair friends. First let us premise that 
we do not intend to inflict on the reader a grave homily on this 
delicate subject, but rather a gossiping sketch of the felicities 



80 A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 

and infelicities of the estate matrimonial, and its counterpart — 
celibacy, with an accompaniment of illustrative facts and anec- 
dotes. Marriage has been designated an episode in the life of 
man, — an epoch in that of woman ; it is certainly a most im- 
portant crisis in the history of both, for it generally causes a 
strange metamorphosis in habit and character. 

" The happy minglement of hearts 

Where, changed as chemic compounds are, 
Each with his own existence parts, 
To find a new one happier far. " 

The ancients exalted domestic affection into a household god, 
and one of the most beautiful antiques now preserved is a gem 
representing the draped figure of a woman worshipping this 
deity, as it kneels upon a pedestal. Croly wrote the following 
Bweet lines upon it : 

" Oh ! love of loves ! to thy white hand is given 

Of earthly happiness the golden key ! 
Thine are the joyous hours of winter's even, 

When the babes cling around their father's knee ; 
And thine the voice that on the midnight sea 

Melts the rude mariner with thoughts of home, 
Peopling the gloom with all he wants to see. 

Spirit ! I've buUt a shrine ; and thou hast come, 
And on its altar closed— forever closed, thy plume I " 

It has been said that while Adam was created without Para- 
dise, Eve was created within the sacred enclosure, and that 
consequently the former always retains something of the origi- 
nal earthiness of his origin ; while woman, " the precious porce- 
lain of human clay," exhibits more of the refining process, both 
aa to her physical and moral nature. 

" If man is the head, woman is the crown. She was formed of 
a rib out of the side of Adam, to be equal with him,— under 



A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 81 

the arm to be protected, and near his heart to be beloved."* 
The world has, in the main, indorsed the sentiment of this 
worthy divine. 

Southey says, " Take away love, and not physical nature only, 
but the heart of the moral world, would be palsied 

" This is the salt unto humauitj, 
That keeps it sweet." 

Its influence is sedative, sanative, and preservative — a drop of 
the true elixir, no mithridate so effectual against the infection 
of vice. Love, it has been said, invented the art of tracing 
likenesses, and thereby led the way to portrait painting; the 
cherished idol of our affection being ever imaged on the 
mental retina, or enshrined within the sacred recesses of the 
heart, as an idealization. Love, indeed, lends a precious seeing 
to the eye, and hearing to the ear : all sights and sounds are 
glorified by the light of its presence. 

Home, the domain of the affections and the graces, is also 
the conservator of virtue. The amenities that adorn and 
beautify our earthly life spring up and flourish within that 
Eden enclosure — Home. 

" Here woman reigns — the mother, daughter, wife, 
Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life ; 
In the clear heaven of her delighted eye 
An angel guard of loves and graces lie ; 
Around her knees domestic duties meet, 
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet." f 

From the marriage relation spring those gentle charities and 
kindly offices of domestic affection which temper the austerities 
and selfish maxims of the world ; while they serve also to help 
our faith in a future blissful estate of being, of which they are 
the type and harbinger. It is the sanctity of the domestic circle^ 

* Matthew Henry. f Cowper. 



82 ' A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 

which links heart to heart in a hallowed compact, whence well 
up those genial affections of our better nature that fertilize the 
barren wastes of humanity and bless the world. ; If there be a 
spot on earth over which angels may be supposed fondly to 
lino-er, and scatter the sweet incense of heavenly blessing, it 
must be the sanctuary of a consecrated home./' The surest 
safeguard against interruptions to domestic concord is the 
habit of wearing a smiling face ; it will prove the panacea for 
every ill — the antidote for every sorrow ; and who that has felt 
the luxury of thus conferring happiness, and chasing from the 
brow a shadow and the heart a grief, would grudge the effort, 
for so rich a boon ? j There is a magnetic power in a spirit of 
cheerfulness and good temper. Its influence is as salutary and 
inspiring in the sphere of home, as sunbeams are to the flowers 
of the field. Among the most insidious foes to domestic happi- 
ness and moral health are the tyrannies of fashion, inconsider- 
ate or unkind words, and the cruelties of scandal : all these are 
usually found to accompany weak heads, and perverted or pet- 
rified hearts. What spectacle can be imagined more touchingly 
beautiful or impressive than that which the marriage ceremo- 
nial presents ? To witness the voluntary consecration of two 
intelligent beings, on the altar of mutual faith and affection, — 
the union of their lives and fortunes in a solemn covenant, 
which naught but death may dissolve, is indeed a scene of sur- 
passing interest. That many instances of an infelicitous kind 
have occurred, cannot be denied, but it is no less true, that in 
the great majority of cases the marriage union has been pro 
ductive of the happiest results; and were its claims always 
properly appreciated, such beneficent effects would ever follow 
in its train. True it is, as society is constituted, marriage 
becomes somewhat of a lottery — for its votaries are either the 
victims of Cupid or cupidity ; in either case, they are under the 



A MONOLOGUE ON MATEIMONY. 83 

blinding influence of passion, and consequently but little sub- 
ject to the control of reason. 

An instance in which marriage was literally a lottery, was 
exemplified in a freak, said to have been enacted by a certain 
youthful swain in France, who, relying upon his personal at- 
tractions mainly, actually put himself up as the prize in a lot- 
tery of ten thousand tickets, of the value of two dollars each. 
This novel matrimonial expedient created a wondrous sensation 
among the belles of the French capital ; and the result was, 
that all sorts of speculation went on among the fair, who 
eagerly bought up the tickets. A fair young damsel, who 
speculated merely for the frolic of the thing, became the 
holder of the prize ticket ; the lucky youth tendered her the 
pecuniary proceeds of the lottery — $20,000; they became a 
case of " love at first sight," and within the brief limits of the 
day. Hymen settled their destiny. 

The happy marriage, says Steele, is where two persons meet 
and voluntarily make choice of each other, without principally 
regarding or neglecting the circumstances of fortune or beauty. 

' ' Though fools spiirn Hymen's geutie powers, 
We, who improve his golden hours, 

By sweet experience know 
That marriage, rightly understood, 
Gives to the tender and the good 

A paradise below." 

Singular spectacles — rather we should say, pairs of specta- 
cles — are occasionally to be seen in our popular promenades — 
ladies of towering altitude, allied to dwarfish bipeds, who 
seem as though they were designed rather for the effect of con- 
trast than equality ; while again similar lofty specimens of the 
masculine are to be met with, peering into the upper air, drag- 
ging by their side like abbreviated instances of the feminine ; 
seemingly to indicate that in resigning themselves to the stern 



84 A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 

alternative of espousing that (falsely so called) necessary evil, — 
a wife, they had sagaciously selected the least. Hood's inimit- 
able pen portrays a calamitous case of the opposite kind, which 
the reader will possibly remember ; yet we are tempted to in- 
troduce it here : 

" Of wedded bliss bards sing amiss, 
I cannot make a song of it ; 
For I am small, my wife is tall, 
And that 's the short and long of it. 

" When we debate, it is my fate 

To always have the wrong of it ; 
For I am smaU, and she is tall, 

And that 's the short and long of it. 

" She gives to me the weakest tea. 

And takes the whole souchong of it, — 
For I am small and she is tall, 
And that 's the short and long of it. 

*' Against my life she'll take a knife, 
Or fork, and dart the prong of it I 
For she is taU, and I am small. 
And that 's the short and long of it." 

Necessarily there is no occasion for such marked dissimilarity 
of size in marriage ; but there is no accounting for the eccen- 
tricities which sometimes control connubial destiny. Neither 
is there inferiority or superiority between the sexes ; each forms 
^ the complement of the other. Man has strength, woman, 
beauty ; man is great in action, woman in suffering ; man's 
dominion is in the world, woman's at home ; man represents 
judgment, woman, mercy. 

Arthur Helps justly remarks, "i Women are in many things 
our superiors, in many things our inferiors — our equals, never, f 
I hold with Coleridge, that there are souls masculine, and souls 
feminine. If they had been made exactly amenable to our 



A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 85 

ways of reasoning, they would have too little hold upon us, 
"Whereas, now, being really resolved to rule, as all we men are. 
at least in serious matters, we are obliged to guide and govern 
them — when we do guide and govern them, through their 
affections, so that we are obliged perpetually to pay court to 
them, which is a very beautiful arrangement." 

So, after all, it is a very pleasant vassalage that is imposed 
upon us by matrimonial bonds. " Never be critical upon the 
ladies," was the maxim of an Irish peer, remarkable for his 
homage to the sex. " The only way that a gentleman should 
look at the faults of a pretty woman is — with his eyes shut ! " 

Instances, not a few, of disastrous marriages might be quoted, 
but as their rehearsal would not excite any pleasurable sensa- 
tions, we shall refrain from the unwelcome task : we may, 
however, refer to the case of an adroit spinster, who was cute 
enough to prevent such an apparent catastrophe. A young 
Scotchman having wooed a pretty buxom damsel, persuaded 
her to accompany him to a justice of the peace, for the purpose 
of having the nuptials celebrated. They stood very meekly 
under the operation, until the magistrate came to that clause 
which imposes the necessity of subjecting the lady to the rule 
of her husband. " Say no more about that, sir," interrupted 
the half -married claimant ; " if this hand remains upon this 
body, I'll make her obey me." " Are we married yet ? " eag- 
erly ejaculated the exasperated maiden to the ratiiier of cove- 
nants between man and woman. "!N"o," responded the wonder- 
ing justice. "Ah, very well; we will finish the rest another 
time," she continued, and in a moment more vanished, leaving 
the astonished swain to console himself for the escape of the 
bird he thought he had so securely caught and caged. 

As a counterpart to the foregoing, we might cite the instance 
of a certain couple of rustics, who presented themselves to the 
priest as candidates for the holy estate of matrimony. On the 



86 A MONOLOGUE ON JIATEIMONY. 

conclusion of the ceremony, the redoubtable husband, who 
began to have sundry misgivings at what he had done, said, 
" Your reverence has tied the knot tightly, I fancy ; but, under 
favor, may I ask, if so be you could untie it again ? " " Why, 
no," replied the dominie ; " we never do that on this part of the 
consecrated ground." "Where then?" eagerly inquired the 
disconsolate victim. " On that" was the response, pointing to 
the church-yard. 

A curious legend is related of Eginhard, a secretary of 
Charlemagne, and a daughter of the emperor. The secretary 
fell desperately in love with the princess, who allowed his ad- 
vances. One winter's night his visit was prolonged to a late 
hour, and in the meantime a deep fall of snow occurred. If he 
left, his foot-marks would betray him, and yet to remain longer 
would expose him, no less, to danger. At length the princess 
resolved to carry him on her back to a neighboring house, 
which, it is said, she did. It happened, that from the window 
of his chamber the emperor witnessed this novel proceeding ; 
and in the assembly of the lords on the following day, when 
Eginhard and his daughter were present, he asked what ought 
to be done to a man who should compel a king's daughter to 
carry him on her shoulders through frost and snow, on a win- 
ter's night? They answered that he was worthy of death. 
The lovers became alarmed, but the emperor, addressing Egin- 
hard, said, " Hadst thou loved my daughter, thou shouldst have 
come to me ; thou art worthy of death — but I give thee two 
lives ; take thy fair porter in marriage, fear God, and love one 
another." 

Balzac, the French novelist, exhibits another example of ec- 
centricity in matrimonial affairs. When Balzac was at the 
zenith of his fame, he was travelling in Switzerland, and had 
arrived at an inn, just at the very moment the Prince and 
Princess Ilanski were leaving it. Balzac was ushered into the 



A MONOLOGUE ON MATiynyiONY. 87 

room they had just vacated, and was leaning from the window 
to observe their departure, when his attention was arrested by 
a soft voice at his elbow, asking for a book which had been left 
behind upon the window seat. The lady was certainly fair, but 
appeared doubly so in the eyes of the poor author, when she 
intimated that the book she was in quest of was a pocket 
edition of his own works. She drew the volume from beneath 
his elbow, and flew downstairs, obedient to the screaming sum- 
mons of her husband, who was already seated in the carriage, 
railing in a loud voice against dilatory habits of women in 
general, and his own spouse in particular ; and the emblazoned 
vehicle drove off, leaving the novelist in a state of self-compla- 
cency the most enviable to be conceived. This was the only 
occasion upon which Balzac and the Princess Hanski had met, 
till his subsequent visit to Germany, when he presented himself 
— as her accepted husband. During these long intervening 
fifteen years, however, a literary correspondence was steadily 
kept up between the parties, till at length, instead of a letter 
containing literary strictures upon his writings, a missive of 
another kind, having a still more directly personal tendency, 
reached him from the fair hand of the princess. It contained 
the announcement of the demise of her husband — the prince, 
that he had bequeathed to her his domains, and his great wealth 
— and consequently, that she felt bound to requite him in some 
measure for his liberality, and had determined upon giving him 
a successor — in the person of Balzac. It is needless to state 
that the delighted author waited not a second summons ; they 
were forthwith united in wedlock, at her chateau on the Rhine, 
and a succession of splendid fetes celebrated the auspicious 
event. 

The following romantic incident of real life has been also 
ti*aced to Switzerland. Several years since an ill-assorted mar- 
riage held for a season in unwilling captivity a husband and 



88 A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 

wife, whose mutual distastes at length became so confirmed, 
that they resolved upon a separation, and made an appoint- 
ment with an attorney to meet and sign a deed to that effect. 
On their way thither, they had to cross a lake, and as it hap 
pened they both embarked on the same boat. On their pass- 
age a storm arose, and the boat was upset. The husband, 
being a good swimmer, soon reached the shore in safety. On 
looking round to see the fate of his fellow -passengers, he dis- 
tinguished his wife, still struggling for her life, and in immi- 
nent danger. A feeling of his early affection returned to him, 
and plunging again into the water, he swam to her, and suc- 
ceeded in rescuing her. When she recovered her senses, and 
learned to whom she owed her life, she threw herself into his 
arms, and he embraced her with equal cordiality ; they then 
vowed to bury their differences in oblivion, and their after mar- 
ried life was no more darkened by the storm-clouds of strife, 
but brightened and glorified with the sunshine of love. 

Those who wish to become acquainted with " the loves of the 
poets," we refer to Mrs. Jameson's pleasant book on that deli- 
cate subject. We may, however, glance at the eccentric con- 
duct of Swift in his love matters. His first flame, whom he 
fantastically christened Yarina, he deserted, after a seven years' 
courtship : the next he styled Stella, who, although beautiful in 
person, and accomplished, after a protracted intimacy, he se- 
cretly married in a garden, although he never resided under 
the same roof with her, and never acknowledged the union till 
the day of his death. The third became a similar victim to his 
selfish hard-heartedness, which, it is said, caused her death. 
W'th all his wit and genius, such wanton brutality must ever 
reflect the deepest disgrace upon his character. The following 
case looks somewhat squally, and indeed possesses so much of 
the marvellous as to challenge belief. It is that of a gentleman 
who confesses he first saw his wife in a storm, took her to a 



A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 89 

ball in a storm, courted her in a storm, then married under tha 
Bame boisterous circumstances, and lived with her during a like 
condition, but buried her in pleasant weather. The union of 
hearts and hands in holj wedlock has given birth to many lu- 
minous poetic effusions. The briefest exposition we remember 
to have seen, is the following, which was doubtless intended 
merely as a love-missive between two ardent souls, whose elec- 
tive affinities — if spirits may commingle — resolved themselves 
into a perfect spiritual amalgam. Says our love-sick swain : 

" My heart to you is given: oh, do give yours to me ; 
We'll lock them up together, and throw away the key." 

We remember to have read somewhere an account of a 
most exemplary instance of conjugal fidelity and devotion, 
which, if true, is certainly without a parallel. A young noble- 
man of Genoa, named Marimi, who held large estates in Cor- 
sica, whither he used to repair every few years to regulate his 
affairs, had married a beautiful creature, named Monimia, an 
Italian. They lived for some years in undiminished felicity, 
till — alas for the mutations of time ! — the devoted husband was 
compelled no longer to defer a visit to the land of his posses- 
sions. During his absence, the island being at the time in a 
state of insurrection, a report reached the ears of the anxious 
spouse that he had fallen a victim to the popular fury and 
revolt. About the same time, as he was passing along the har- 
bor, he overheard some sailors, who had just arrived, talking of 
the death of a Genoese nobleman's wife, then absent from the 
republic. The name of his beloved wife was at length men- 
tioned, when all suspicion yielding to the painful conviction 
that it was, indeed, she of whom they spoke, he became so over- 
powered with grief that he swooned away. On his recovery he 
determined to lose no time in repairing to his home, in order to 
ascertain the certainty of the report. Strange as it may appear, 



90 A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 

simultaneously with this, the equally distressed wife resolved 
upon a similar procedure. They both took ship — one for Cor- 
sica, the other for Genoa ; a violent storm overtook both vessels, 
and each was shipwrecked upon a desolate island in the Medi- 
terranean. Marimi's ship first made land, and the disconsolate 
widower, wishing to indulge his grief, wandered into the em- 
bowered recesses of a neighboring wood. Soon afterwards the 
Grenoese ship lauded Monimia, with one of her maids ; actu- 
ated by similar emotions, she bent her sorrowing steps to the 
same retreat. They each heard the other complaining of their 
bitter fate ; when, moved by a mutual curiosity to see their 
companion in grief, — judge of their amazement and rapturou& 
surprise, when they instantl}'^ recognized in each other the ob- 
ject of their ardent solicitude and affection. One long, strain- 
ing, and passionate embrace, and they immediately expired! 

Wordsworth) s beautiful lines describe the highest style of 
womanhood, with the subtle analysis of the critic, and the Pro- 
methean fire of the poet : 

" She was a queen of noble nature's crowning; 

A smile of hers was like an act of grace ! 
She had no winsome looks, no pretty frowning, 

Like gaudy beauties of the vulgar race : 
But if she smiled, a light was on her face, — 

A clear, cool kindliness, a lunar beam 
Of peaceful radiance, silvering in the stream 

Of human thoughts of unabiding glory, — 
Not quite awaking truth — not quite a dream, — 

A visitation bright and transitory." 

LowelVs epitome of woman's worth is given in a single 
stanza : 

" Blessing she is — God made her so ; 
And deeds of week-day holiness 
Fall from her, noiseless as the snow ; 
Nor hath she ever chanced to know 
That aught were easier than to bless." 



A MOXOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 91 

And Wordsioorth''s epitome is : 

" A creature, not too bright or good 
For hiiman nature's daily food ; — 
For transient sorrows, simple wiles. 

Praise, blame, love-kisses, tears, and smiles." 

Matrimony has, as we have seen, sometimes its squallj 
weather as well as its sunshine. 

" A something light as air, — a look, 
A word unkind or wrongly taken, — 
O love ! that tempests never shook, 
A breath, a touch like this, hath shaken. 
And ruder words will soon rush in 
To spread the breach that words begin •, 
And eyes forget the gentle ray 
They wore in courtship's smiling day ; 
And voices lose the tone that shed 
A tenderness o'er aU was said." * 

Job Caudle, when he died, left a small packet of papers in- 
scribed, " Curtain Lectures delivered in the course of thirty 
years, ly Mrs. Margaret Caudle, and Suffered hy Job her hus- 
handP His case needs no comment, rather condolence. 

Like a suit at chancery, marriage is likely to last a lifetime ; 
each is much easier to get into, than get out of, again. A 
writer in Punch had the audacity thus to estimate matri- 
mony: 

" Which is of greater value, — pr'ythee say, — 
The bridegroom, or the bride ? must the truth be told ? 
Alas, it must ; the bride is given away, — 
The bridegroom, often, regularly soldP'' 

That is indeed a frail bond of affection which would seek to 
unite hearts and hands together, by the blandishments of beauty 
merely, without the deep faith of the heart. 

• * Moore. 



92 A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 

" 'Tia beauty, that doth oft make women proud ; 
'Tis virtue, that doth make them most admired ; 
'Tia modesty, that makes them seem divine," 

This last-named grace seems to have given place to the mod- 
ern infallible specific — money ; money, in the world's estimate, 
like charity, covers a multitude of sins. 

Some rhymester thus sums up the case in the court of Cupid : 

" Fair woman was made to bewitch : 
A pleasure, a pain, a disturber, a nurse, 
A slave or a tyrant, a blessing or curse, — 
Fair woman was made to be — which ? " 

" A French woman will love her husband," it has been said, 
" if he is either witty or chivalrous ; a German woman, if he 
is constant and faithful ; a Dutch woman, if he does not dis- 
turb her ease and comfort too much ; a Spanish woman, if 
he wreaks terrible vengeance upon those who are mider her 
displeasure ; an Italian woman, if he is dreamy and poetical ; 
a Russian woman, if he despises all westerners as miserable 
barbarians ; an English woman, if he succeeds in ingratiating 
himself with the court and nobility ; and an American woman, 
if he has — plenty of money ! " 

" Matches are made for many reasons, — 

For love, convenience, money, fun, and spite. 
How many against common sense are treasons ! 

And few the happy pairs who match aright 1 
In the fair breast of some bewitching dame. 

How many a youth will strive fond love to waken : 
And when at length successful in his aim. 

Be first mis-led and afterwards — mis-taken / " 

In Southern Italy, love-making is, sometimes, carried on by a 
system of pautomimics, from opposing balconies. A code of 
significant attitudinizing signals is adopted between the parties ; 



A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 93 

and although the method is mute, yet, as actions speak louder 
than words, this silent system seems to answer the purpose well 
enough for that meridian. 

That brief episode of romance, courtship, is the spring-tide 
of life — the May of human existence : fond memory clings to 
it with cherished and lingering devotion ; for, if at no other 
period, the heart then reveals its generous sympathies, and the 
habitual selfishness of our nature is forgotten. If the month 
posterior to the nuptial ceremony — the honeymoon — is so richly 
freighted with happiness, it is more than the great dramatist 
affirms of the period anterior to that event, when he insists, 
" the course of true love never did run smooth." 

Emerson has some poetic and forcible words upon this sub- 
j eot of love ; he says, " Be our experience in particular what 
it may, no man ever forgets the visitations of that power upon 
his heart and brain, which created all things new ; which was 
the dawn in him of music, poetry, and art, — which made the 
face of nature radiant with purple light, the morning and night 
of varied enchantments, — when a single tone could thrill the 
heart, and the most trivial circumstance associated with one 
form is put in the amber of memory, — when we become all eye 
when one is present — all memory, when one is gone." 

Thackeray insists that " it is a good thing for a man to be in 
love, — it softens his asperities of character and quickens his 
sensibilities. It is like inoculation, a kind of disease, with a 
sanative effect resulting from it." 

The true antidote or specific for love-sickness is, unremitting 
industry ; since it is when unoccupied that the poor victim is 
especially vulnerable. It is then that the arch cunning of 
Cupid usually takes effect, by bringing up the vision of the 
inamorata in all her bewitching splendor. Yes, it is the lus- 
trous eye, the smiling lip, or the relievo bust, that does all the 
mischief. Potential as it is, yet is beauty — " the eye's idol " — 



94 A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 

often the most evanescent and frail of Heaven's endowments. 
Notwithstanding its frailty, however, the poet lavishes all his 
wealth of imagery and pomp of diction, in the celebration of 
its praises. 

Mark Antony lost a world for a woman, — bartering empire 
for the smile of the rare Egyptian queen ! and the Trojan war 
was traceable to Helen's eyes. "Who has not proved, as Byron 
beautifully expresses it, — 

" How feebly words essay 
To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray ? 
Who doth not feel, until his failing sight 
Faints into dimness, with its own delight, — 
His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess, 
The might, the majesty of loveliness ! " 

Love has been compared to debt: both keep their captives 
awake at night, and in a perpetual state of unrest during the 
day. This heart-disease has been playfully styled the " tender 
passion," possibly, either from its softening effects on the brain, 
or from its prevailing susceptibility with the " softer sex." 

Like justice, love is supposed to be blind ; the poet says : 

' ' Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, 
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind." 

And although his votaries are also, for the most part, the vic- 
tims of ophthalmic weakness, yet by a law of compensation, 
love is endowed with a spiritual perception. " Falling in love," 
as the phi'ase is, is a serio-comic affair ; Cupid is a cunning 
manoeuvrer and casuist. 

" He blurs the print of the scholar's book, 
And intrudes on the maiden's prayer, 
And profanes the cell of the holy man, 

In the shape of a lady fair. 
Love beckons in the painter's dream, 
Makes music in the poet's metre, 



A MONOLOGUE OX MATEIMONY. 95 

O'er youth and age he reigns supreme ; 

Can any other sway be sweeter ? 
And still the songs of all the world 

Shall celebrate love's endless blisses. 
While on a neck a tress is curled, 

And while a red lip pouts for kisses." * 

Yes, this loving is a great science. Cicero styles it " the 
philosophy of the lieart," and a later authority calls it " the 
finest of the fine arts." " In one respect it is the business of 
life," writes another, " to conjugate the verb to love." In the 
" battle of life," courtship is the siege or engagement ; the pro- 
posal, the assault, and marriage, the victory. 

Once, at Holland House, the conversation turned upon " first 
love." Tom Moore compared it to a potato, "because it 
shoots from the eyes." " Or rather," exclaimed Byron, " because 
it becomes all the less hj paring.''^ It was so in his case. 

The Hibernian was in earnest, if not in haste, in his love suit 
for a beauty, when he told her he " could get no sleep o' nights 
for dhramin' ov her." One of the most concise courtships we 
have heard of, was the following : An eminent geologist, who 
was travelling several years ago in a stage-coach, happened to 
take a seat opposite to a lady. Of course glances were ex- 
changed, for how could they help so doing ? A code of eye- 
signals was next adopted, and soon afterwards eye-language 
was exchanged for verbal conversation. After a few inter- 
changes about fossils and petrifactions, they began to talk about 
living objects and subjects, from generalities they descended 
to specialties and personalities. Said the gentleman, " I am 
still unmarried ; " quoth the lady, " So am I." No. 1 then 
replied, " I have sometimes thought of marrying ; " " So have 
I," responded No. 2. Then a pause ensued. " Suppose we were 
to marry one another," was then proposed by the man of fossils : 

* H. S. Clarke. 



96 A MONOLOGUE ON JIATRIMONY. 

" I would love and cherish ; " " and I," said the fair one, " would 
honor and obey." Two days after, it is said, they did the deed. 

Punch thus portrays the symptoms of a case of heart-disease 
or absent-mindedness superinduced thereby, the interlocutor 
being in evidence : 

" Tell me, Edward, dost remember how at breakfast, often we 
Put our bacon in the teapot while we took and fried our tea ? 
How we went to evening parties on gigantic brewers' drays, 
How you wore your coats as trousers in those happy, happy days ? 
How we used to pocket ices when a modest lunch we bought, 
QuaS the foaming Abemethy, masticate the crusty port ? 
How we cleaned our boots with sherry, while we drank the blacking dry ? 
And how we quite forgot to pay for articles we used to buy ? " 

Yes, falling in love is a queer business ; for instance, a stU" 
dent leaves college, covered with academic honors, and not a 
stir in his affections, excepting for his " kith and kin ; " but a 
fair maiden passes him on his way, and straightway he loses 
his heart — the victim of a glance from a sunny face. A 
learned metaphysician, apparently lost to all external things by 
his abstract studies, walks out from his library, and his eye is 
suddenly arrested by the vision of a little satin shoe tripping 
most daintily along ; and this grave epitome of severe learning 
becomes a ready captive to Cupid's snare! Take another 
instance : a redoubtable son of Mars, full panoplied for the 
fight, and panting for victorious fame, enters a gay saloon in a 
foreign clime, where he meets a Spanish brunette, in her blaze 
of beauty ; with a twirl of her fan she takes him captive. Who 
shall give to us a mathematical demonstration of the mystery ? 

Notwithstanding all that women have charged against us, 
men, under the counts of "woman's rights," and "woman's 
wrongs," are they not indispensable to our social happiness? 
Are they not the " queens of society," whose empire is the 



A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 97 

heart, and whose sceptre is love ? Of all the tributes ever paid 
to woman's worth by pen of poet, and they have been neither 
few nor small, a single line of Scotia's bard is the most com- 
prehensive : 

" What signifies the life o' man, 
An' 'twere not for the lasses, o ? " 

One of the old dramatists thus touches upon the seductive 
subject : " Sing of the nature of woman, and the song shall be 
surely full of variety, — old crotchets and most sweet closes, — it 
shall be humorous, grave, fantastic, amorous, melancholy, 
sprightly — one in all, and all in one ! " * 

But leaving woman as Adam found her, the predestined 
mistress of the affections, we will refer the reader to the old 
pop* Gower's chivalric devotion to the maiden of his muse : 

"What thing she bid me do, I do ; 
And where she bid me go, I go ; 
And when she likes to call, I come ; 
I serve, I bow, I looke, I loute. 
Mine eye it followeth her about." 

The human family is divided into two classes, the married 
and the single ; the former have been often deemed legitimate 
objects for the raillery and jest, by the advocates of celibacy ; 
and it is but fair that the opposite party should be permitted a 
share of the like pleasantry. As a specimen of the former, 
take the following lines of a most inveterate woman-hater — one 
of the early printers who flourished during the first half of the 
sixteenth century. The extraordinary production in which this 
curious satire occurs is entitled " The scole-howse^ wherein 
every man may rede a goodlie jprayer of the condycyons of 
women^^ (fee. This erudite scribe thus apostrophizes the 
box: 

* Beaumont. 



98 A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 

" Trewly some men there be 
That lyve always in great horroure, 
And sayth it goth by destynie, — 
To hang, or wed, — both hath one houre ; 
And whether it be ! I am well sure 
Hanging is better of the twaine, — 
Sooner done and shorter payne ! " 

It is admitted, on all hands, to be both a delicate and perilous 
thing, to pry into a woman's age ; and the embarrassment 
becomes increased in the exact ratio of its advance, especially 
in the case of an unmarried lady. The precise epoch at which 
the epithet old may be admissible, is no less involved in mys- 
tery. It is, therefore, highly expedient to avoid inquisitiveness 
upon the subject. Possibly the solution of the mystery of 
woman's age may be found in the fact, that beauty does not 
always bloom ; and when her dimpled smiles and ruddy hues 
pass away, it is a vain endeavor to supply their lack by the aid 
of costly cosmetics and bijouterie. 

Unmarried maidens ought, of course, to be styled the match- 
less among the fair, for in more senses than one, the definition 
is applicable to them. Are they not usually the ministering 
angels of the social circle ; and are they not the sine qua non 
in the chamber of sickness? Some of the sweet sisterhood 
remain unintentionally among the unmarried, and these claim 
our respectful sympathy ; others there are, known by the epithet 
coquette, possessing more charms of person than graces of 
character ; these often fail of matrimonial alliance, from pre- 
sumption. When too late, these nymphs resort to every expe- 
dient to avert the unwelcome issue, but in vain ; " love's sweet 
vocabulary " has been exhausted, and the charms, divinations, 
and necromancy of Yenus herself have been called into requisi- 
tion, but potent as they usually are, without the desired effect 
in their behalf. "We have been accustomed to associate Cupid 
with simply his bow and quiver full of arrows ; but the queen 



A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 



99 



of love, it seems, can invoke to her aid much more varied and 
irresistible artillery for captm-ing the citadel of the heart. To 
enmnerate in full detail these appliances of woman's art, would 
startle the credulity of the unsuspecting reader. Neither the 
" gentle moon," nor good old St. Valentine, the tutelar divini- 
ties of the tender passion, have, in their case, done their office ; 
who, therefore, can wonder, after such an expenditure of effort 
and exemplary enduring patience on their part, that our for- 
lorn fair ones should become the victims of ennui,— or that 
their once jubilant and joyous features should become tinged 
with an expression of melancholy. "We hear much of the 
merry old bachelor, that he is devoid of care, that he is every- 
where the centre of a charmed circle, and that he is, in a word, 
a being envied by all, pitied by none. Even Lord Bacon, 
among others of the literary and learned, insists that mankind 
is indebted to the unmarried and the childless for its highest 
benefactions, in the world of science and song. " They are," 
he adds, " the best of friends, the best masters, and the best 
servants." The verdict of society has, however, changed since 
the days of that sage philosopher. 

Old bachelors have been styled " unproductive consumers ; 
scissors with but one blade ; bows without fiddles ; irregular 
noun-substantives, always in the singular number and objective 
case ; unruly scholars, who, when told to conjugate, always de- 
cline." 

Some wag thus apostrophizes the old bachelor: "What a 
pitiful thing an old bachelor is, with his cheerless house and 
his rueful phiz, on a bitter cold night, when the fierce winds 
blow, and when the earth is covered with snow. When his fire 
is out, and in shivering dread, he slips 'neath the sheets of his 
lonely bed. How he draws up his toes, all encased in yarn hose, 
and he buries his nose 'neath the chilly bedclothes ; lest his 
nose, and his toes, still encased in yarn hose, should chance to 



100 A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 

get froze. Then he puffs and he blows, and says that he knowa 
no mortal on earth ever suffered such woes ; and with ahs ! 
and with ohs ! with his limbs to dispose, so that neither his 
toes, nor his nose, may be froze — to his slumbers in silence, 
the bachelor goes ! " 

Dickens thus piquantly portrays the old bachelor, where he 
says: "He is cross, cadaverous, odd and ill-natured, — never 
happy but when he is miserable ; and always miserable when 
he had the best reason to be happy. The only real comfort of 
his existence seemed to be, to make everybody about him 
wretched. If he hated one thing more than another, it was a 
child ; his antipathies included old women, and doors that would 
not shut ! " Old bachelors are like those strange wandering 
fires that seem to have no fixed spheres ; serve no known law in 
the moral universe, — the purposes of whose existence being a 
mystery alike to themselves and all about them. Callous to the 
appeals of nature, insensible to the sweet oratory of woman's 
eyes and lips, and the rarer attractions of her moral worth; 
these despisers of the sex deserve their frowns, rather than their 
approving smiles, and to be placed under the ban of society as 
its alien, if not its foe. These singular specimens of humanity 
are in an anomalous condition ; for they are not only isolated 
in their selfishness, but they have also outlawed themselves 
from the rights and privileges of domestic life. 

Apart from its endearing associations and immunities, the 
marriage relation is constituted the great conservator of human 
existence ; without it the world would soon become a waste, 
and the beneficent purposes of its great Author be frustrated. 
This sentiment we accordingly find to have obtained, as by in- 
stinct, in all ages. Fines were first levied on unmarried men 
in Rome, about the middle of the fourth century ; and when 
pecuniary forfeitures failed to insure obedience to connubial 
edicts, celibacy was visited by penal punishments. 



A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 101 

Having indulged our laugh against the bachelor tribe, and 
the matchless spinster sisterhood, we have a few words to say 
about bewitching widows — perhaps the most difficult to define 
of all human enigmas. "Widows, generally speaking, are es- 
pecially dangerous to the peace of bachelors : having graduated 
in the school of domestic life, they have become proficients in 
" the art which conceals art," they have exchanged simplicity for 
sophistry and seductive contrivance. They do not often say — 
" no," to an " offer ; " and if the party is timidly backward in 
coming forward, they have an enchanting habit of meeting 
him half way. 

Old Weller in the Piohwick Papers^ warns his impressible 
eon, Sam^ against their wiles, and affirms, that " one 'Didder is 
equal to twenty-five single vomen ! " Here is a life-like sketch 
of a first-class widow : 

" She is modest, but not bashful, free and easy, but not bold — 
Like an apple, ripe and mellow, not too young, and not too old ; 
Half inviting-, half repulsive ; now inviting, now too shy : 
There is mischief in her dimple, there is danger in her eye ! 
She can teU the very moment when to sigh and when to smile ; 
Oh ! a maid is sometimes charming, but a widow all the while. 
Are you sad ? how very serious will her handsome face become : 
Are you angry ? she is wretched, lonely, friendless, tearful, dtunb : 
Are you mirthful ? how her laughter, silver-sounding, will ring out : 
She can lure, and catch, and play you, as the angler does the trout 1 " 

So long as fascinating women, be they widows or maidens, 
still remain amongst us, to light up life's pathway, and to glad- 
den our eyes, there is hope for bachelors, old or young. So 
that if even any crusty, rusty old blades, long "laid on the shelf," 
and deemed beyond all redemption, should thus become owned 
and polished, their dulness removed, their temper improved — 
and a new edge being put upon them, they may hereafter cut 
a better figure in the world, with more comfort to themselves 
and advantage to their neighbors. The most effectual way to 



102 A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 

curb a wild youngster, is to bridal him ; and the best way to 
keep a man in countenance, who is tired of inspecting his own 
disconsolate visage in the mirrors, is, to turn his gaze towards 
some smiling vision of beauty, and then, if he may, secure it, 
as real estate or personal property. 

Tom Moore once committed an act of petty larceny, by clip- 
ping a stray ringlet from the head of a young lady, who, on 
demanding restitution, received from the poet this witty re- 

" On one sole condition, love, I might be led, 
With this beautiful ringlet to part, — 
I would gladly relinquish the lock of your head, 
Gould I gain but the key to your heart I " 

Few topics have been made so fruitful a theme of badinage 
and sarcasm by the wits, as that of marriage. If the old bache- 
lor is said to become bearish in his isolation, a man of the op- 
posite class, during courtship, is thought to exhibit a strong 
resemblance to a goose ; and when this incipient stage is ex- 
changed for the estate matrimonial, he is honored with the epi- 
thet sheepish. Some have indulged their vein of irony in 
verse, a curious specimen of which we subjoin ; it evinces as 
much ingenuity as wit, for it admits of being read two ways, 
to convey a directly opposite sentiment. "We transcribe it ac- 
cording to what we consider its true meaning ; but in order to 
make it tell the reverse, it will be necessary to alternate the 
lines, reading the first and third, then the second and fourth : 

*' That man must lead a happy life 
Who is directed by a wife ; 
Who's freed from matrimonial claims. 
Is sure to suffer for his pains. 

"Adam could find no solid peace 
Till he beheld a woman's face ; 
When Eve was given for a mate 
Adam was in a happy state. 



A MONOLOGUE ON MATRIMONY. 103 

" In all the female race appears 
Truth, darling of a heart Bincere : 
Hypocrisy, deceit, and pride 
In woman never did reside. 

" What tongue is able to unfold 
The worth in woman we behold ? 
The failings that in woman dwell 
Are almost imperceptible. 

' ' Confusion take the men, I say. 
Who no regard to women pay. 
Who make the women their delight 
Keep always reason in their sight." 

One of the most eminent of her sex, Mrs. Jameson, referring 
to the mission of woman, has said : " It is hers to keep alive 
all those purer, gentler, and more genial sympathies — those 
refinements in morals, in sentiments, in manners, without which 
men exposed to the rougher influences of every-day life and in 
the struggle with this selfish world, might degenerate (do de- 
generate, for the case is not hypothetical) into mere brutes." 
Such is the beautiful theory of woman's life-mission — ^preached 
to her by moralists, sung to her by poets — till it has become 
the world's creed, and her own faith. 

The marriage bond has been compared to the " Gordian knot," 
because it is an inextricable one, which none are supposed to 
be competent to unloose. In these modern days, however, too 
many, disregarding the sanctity of this union, wait not for death 
to dissolve it, but, like Alexander the Great, ruthlessly sunder 
at will the mystic cord. 

The wedding-ring, symbolical of the perpetuity of the con- 
jugal relation, has ever bden the accepted accompaniment of 
marriage. Its being put on the fourth finger of the left hand, 
has been continued, from long-established usage, because of 
the fanciful conceit that from this finger a nerve went direct 
to the heart. 



104 



A MONOLOGUE ON IVIATRIMONT. 



" Little simple, valued thing, made for little finger fair, 
How much sorrow you may bring, when for lucre you ensnare ! 
Yet, if heart and hand unite, and if soul to soul be given, — 
Then the solemn nuptial rite is a sweet foretaste of heaven ! !" 

Evil portents sometimes scare the happy pair, even after the 
Gordian knot has been tied. We are not, say you, fair maiden, 
superstitious on that subject: well, then, that being the case, 
we will tell you on which day to do the deed : if it has not been 
already enacted : we subjoin a little advice gratis : 

Now list the oracle : " On Monday, for wealth ; Tuesday, 
for health ; "Wednesday, the best day of all ; Thursday for 
crosses ; Friday, for losses, — Saturday, no luck at all ! " 



111,/''''/// 





CURIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 



" Books are the immortal sons deifying their sires." — Plato. 



With what rapt enthusiasm will the confirmed bibliomaniac 
pounce upon, and pore over the scarce legible pages of some 
antique mouldering manuscript ; or clutch, with miser grasp, 
a black-letter tome of the olden time. This feeling, though 
peculiar in its intensity to the class referred to, is yet possessed 
in degree by most who prefer any claims to a literary taste. 
An attachment or veneration for books — for books that are 
books — if not a conclusive test of all mental refinement, is at 
least its rarely absent concomitant. In the companionship of 



106 CURIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 

books, how many immunities do we enjoy, which are denied to us 
in our intercourse with men : — with unobtrusive modesty, they 
trespass not upon us, unbidden guests, nor do they ever out- 
stay their welcome. "When it is remembered, that books pre- 
sent us with the quintessence of the most cultivated minds, 
freed, to a great extent, from the alloy of human passion and 
weakness, and that they are the media of our acquiring the 
closest proximity and communion with the spirits of the great 
and good of all ages, it cannot surprise us that books should 
become such universal favorites. With the historian, for in- 
stance, we lose sight of our own common-place existence, as 
we become fired with the enthusiasm of the apparently more 
noble and illustrious achievements of the mighty dead ; or 
traverse with the poet the glowing fields of his own ideal 
world, peopled with the bright creations of fancy ; while, if in 
more sober mood, we may gather from the grave teacher of 
ethics the collective wisdom and experience of the past, 
" Talk of the necromancer of old, with his wand, his charms, 
and his incantations; what is he to an author? His charm is, 
that we lift the cover of his book ; his incantation is its pref- 
ace — his wand, the pen ; but what can equal their power ? 
The spell is upon us ; the actual world around us is gone." * 
Honor, then, to those gifted ones who can thus delight and in- 
struct us ; no praise or reward can be overpaid to them while 
they are amongst us, nor any homage too great when they have 
passed away. " The works of an author are his embalmed 
mind; and grateful to the student's eye are the well-under- 
stood hieroglyphics on this mental mummy-case, that tell of the 
worthy preserved therein. What was the extolled art of the 
Egyptians to this ? Mind and matter — the poet and the mon- 
arch — Homer and King Cheops ! " 

* Channing. 



CURIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 107 

' ' There they reign 
(In loftier pomp than working life had known,) 
The kings of thought ! — not crowned until the grave. 
When Agamemnon sinks into the tomb, 
The beggar Homer mounts the monarch's throne 1 

Who of us can teU 

What he had been, had Cadmus never taught 

To man the magic that embalms the thought, — 

Had Plato never spoken from his cell, 

Or his high harp blind Homer never strung ? — 

Kinder all earth hath grown since genial Shakspeare sung ? " * 

At that magic word, — Boohs — what vivid retrospections of 
bygone years — what summer days of unalloyed happiness, 
when life was new, — rush on the memory. Who, in recalling 
the past, does not delight to refer to the pleasures he has ex- 
perienced in the perusal of some favorite author ? Such inci- 
dents occur to most, and they constitute bright episodes in the 
drama of life. Who, in early youth, has not been lost to all 
external things in the rapt enjoyment of those delectable 
emanations of genius — The Arahian Nights, Rohinson Crusoe, 
and the PilgrirrCs Progress, — books of such singular interest 
as to render them universal favorites. 

" Books are a guide in youth and an entertainment for age," 
says an old writer ; " they support us under solitude, and keep 
us from becoming a burden to ourselves. They help us to for- 
get the crossness of men and things, and compose our cares 
and our passions, and lay our disappointments asleep." Books 
are the fruits and flowers which intellectual husbandry culls 
from the fields of imagination and reflection ; well-springs from 
the fountains of truth ; or the pearls and precious metals that 
are produced from the mental crucible. Deprived of these 
treasuries of knowledge and wisdom, we should pine for that 
literary aliment, which is as essential to our mental economy, 

* Bulwer Lytton. 



108 CUEIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 

as is animal food to our physical well-being. They constitute 
the electric chain, that connects and circulates the mental mag- 
netism of our social life. They are the links that unite the 
past with the present, and spread out before us the collective 
intelligence of all time. In the words of an old poet — 

" Books are a part of man's prerogative, 

In formal ink, they form and voices hold, 
That we to them our solitude may give, 
And make time present travel that of old." 

Good books, moreover, beguile the sad and sorrowing of 
their griefs, and especially the Book of books, that binds both 
worlds, and conducts the pilgrim, as did the pillar of cloud 
and fire the Israelites of old, to the promised land. 

" Our religion itself is founded in books," says Bartholin, 
'"' and without them God is silent, justice dormant, physic at a 
stand, philosophy lame, letters dumb, and all things involved 
in Cimmerian darkness." 

" I confess myself an idolater of this literary religion, and 
am grateful for the blessed ministry of books. It is a kind of 
heathenism which needs no missionary funds, no Bible even, to 
abolish it ; for the Bible itself caps the peak of this new Olym- 
pus, and crowns it with sublimity and glory. Amongst the 
many things we have to be thankful for, as the result of mod- 
ern discoveries, surely this of printed books is the highest of 
all ; and I for one am so sensible of its merits, that I never 
think of the name of Guttenberg without feelings of venera- 
tion and homage." * 

The literary history of books, although in itself fraught 

with peculiar interest, as exhibiting tlie progress of the human 

mind and science, is yet rather collateral to our subject than 

directly in its line ; since we propose merely to notice some of 

* Searle's Essay. 



CURIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 109 

the more notable specimens of ancient and modern bibliogra- 

In his curious chapter on early manuscripts, D'Israeli gives 
the following ludicrous anecdote, illustrative of the pious hor- 
ror in which the classics were held by the monks. To read a 
profane author was deemed by the communities not only a very 
idle recreation, but even regarded by some as a grave offence. 
To distinguish them, therefore, they invented a disgraceful 
sign : when a monk inquired for any pagan author, after mak- 
ing the general sign they used in their manual and silent lan- 
guage, when they wanted a book, he added a particular one, 
which consisted in scratching under his ear, as a dog is accus- 
tomed to do with his paw, " because," said they, " an unbeliev- 
er is compared to a dog" ! In this manner they expressed an 
itching for those dogs — Virgil and Horace. Notwithstand- 
ing the odium with which the writings of these despised 
heathens were treated by some, there were others of a later 
date, to be found willing to become their possessors even at 
enormous cost. The transfer of an estate was sometimes not 
withheld to secure the boon: while the disposal of a manu- 
script was considered an event of such importance as to require 
a public record. Louis XI., in 1471, was compelled to pledge 
a hundred golden crowns in order to obtain the loan even of 
the MSS. of an Arabian scribe, named Rasis. 

Numerous other instances might be cited of a similar class, 
during the middle ages. For example. Stow informs us Aiat, 
in 1274, a Bible in nine volumes, finely written, " sold for fifty 
markes," something like thirty pounds sterling of that time, 
when ordinary laboring wages were a penny a day. This 
Bible was afterwards bought by the Earl of Salisbury, after 
having been taken from the King of France, at the battle of 
Poictiers. The Countess of Anjou is also said to have paid for 



110 CURIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 

a copy of the Homilies of Bishop Huiman two hundred sheep, 
and other articles of barter. 

Parnarme, writing to the King of Naples, says, " Ton lately 
wrote me from Florence that the works of Titus Livius are 
there to be sold, in very handsome books, and that the price of 
each is one hundred and twenty crowns of gold. Therefore I 
entreat your majesty that you cause the same to be bought ; 
and one thing I want to know of your prudence, whether I or 
Poggius have done best, — he, that he might buy a country 
house near Florence, sold Livy, which he had writ in a very 
fine hand ; or I, that I might purchase the books, have exposed 
a piece of land for sale ? " 

In Spain, books were formerly so exceedingly scarce, that 
one and the same Bible often served for the use of several 
monasteries. And even the library at Paris down to the four- 
teenth century possessed only four of the classic authors, — 
Cicero, Lucan, Ovid, and Boethius. 

Previous to the invention of type printing, raised words 
were cut on a block of wood, impressions from which were 
taken ; and in this way was produced the Biblia Pawperum 
of the fourteenth century. It consisted of about forty leaves 
of texts bound together, and was intended, probably, either as 
a help to the preacher, or the catechumen. 

A Saxon king once gave away an estate of eight hundred 
acres of land for a single volume, entitled " Cosmography ; or. 
The History of the World : " such was the scarcity and value 
of books in those times. A book was often entailed with as 
much solemnity as the most valuable estate : thus, at the com- 
mencement of a breviary of the Bible, there is a memorial, by 
the donor, the Bishop of Lincoln, of its bestowment to the 
"library built in the church," etc. 

Books were deemed of such value in those times, that they 
were often pledged to learned societies, upon which a deposit 



CURIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. Ill 

was required. Oxford had a chest for books thus pledged, 
which, if not redeemed by a given day, became the property of 
the University. In the year 1174, one Walter Prior pur- 
chased of the monks at Winchester, Bedels Homilies and St. 
Austin's Psalter, for twelve measures of barley and a pall, on 
which was embroidered in silver, the history of Birinas con- 
verting a Saxon king. About the year 1255, Roger de Insula, 
Dean of York, gave several Latin Bibles to the University of 
Oxford, on condition that the student who perused them should 
deposit a cautionary pledge. 

The scarcity of parchment was one of the principal causes 
of the destruction of ancient manuscripts ; since it led to the 
erasure of the more ancient, in order to make the vellum again 
available. These were known as palimpsests. This barbar- 
ous practice prevailed most during the three or four centuries 
which preceded the revival of learning, in the fourteenth cen- 
tury. Cardinal Mai is believed to have discovered a process 
for recovering these obliterated MSS. 

The earliest of illuminated manuscripts are probably the 
Virgil and Terence in the Library of the Vatican ; and the 
Homer in the Ambrosian Library at Milan. There exists only 
one manuscript of Tacitus, it is believed, which was discovered 
in a monastery in Westphalia. In the Imperial Library at 
Paris, is the papyrus of Assa, supposed to date about two thou- 
sand years b.c. 

The literary treasures of antiquity suffered much from the 
barbaric hordes, which overran Europe in the fifth and sixth 
centuries. 

A learned antiquary observes : " Of the history of Polybius, 
which once contained forty books, we have now only five. Of 
the historical library of Diodorus Siculus, fifteen books only 
remain out of forty, and half of the Roman antiquities of 
Dionysius Halicarnassus have perished. Of the eighty books 



112 CURIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 

of the history of Dion Cassius, twenty-five only remain. Livy's 
history consisted of one hundred and forty books, and we 
only possess thirty-five of that historian." 

During the early epochs of the Christian era, literature under- 
went the most devastating vicissitudes ; religious intolerance 
and fanaticism destroyed some of the most precious annals of 
the past. Jew, Christian, and Pagan alike vented their malice 
on the productions of genius. 

Said Omar, " Either these books are in conformity with the 
Koran, or they are not : if they are, they are useless ; and if 
not, they are evil : in either event, therefore, let them be de- 
stroyed." Such was the logic that devoted to destruction seven 
hundred thousand manuscript volumes of the Alexandrian 
library ! 

The earliest public library of which we have any record 
was that of Osymandyas, who reigned in Egypt six hundred 
years after the deluge. That of Pisistratus, in Athens, dates 
five hundred and fifty years b.c. The next was the great Alex- 
andrian collection ; then followed, in the order of time, the 
several great libraries of Europe. 

Among the earliest illuminated MSS., we may mention the 
renowned Codex Argentetos, so named from its being written 
in liquid silver, upon violet-colored vellum. It is a magnifi- 
cent specimen of its kind, and is further remarkable as being 
the only extended specimen of the Moeso-Gothic known to exist. 
It exhibits a very close resemblance to printing, although exe- 
cuted nearly a thousand years prior to the discovery of the art. 
This choice literary relic was first discovered in the Benedic- 
tine Abbey of Worden, in Westphalia, about the year 1587 ; it 
subsequently passed into the possession of Queen Christine, of 
Sweden, then into that of Yossius, and was finally purchased 
by a northern Count, Gabriel de la Gardie, for £250, and by 
him presented to the University of Upsala. 



CUEIOCJS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 113 

Within a few years, an ancient MS. copy of a portion of 
the New Testament, written in the Francic language, has been 
discovered at Eheims Cathedral. Its date is the eleventh cen- 
tury ; and is supposed to have been used in administering the 
coronation oath to the kings of France. Bede speaks of a 
magnificent copy of the Gospels in letters of the purest gold, 
upon leaves of purple parchment. So costly a mode of pro- 
ducing manuscripts could not have become general in any age ; 
accordingly we find these magnificent specimens were expressly 
executed for the nobles and princes of their times, or the 
higher dignitaries of the Church. An instance of this is to be 
seen in the superb Prayer BooJc, of a like description with 
the foregoing, with, the addition of its binding, which was of 
pure ivory, studded with gems, and, we believe, is yet extant 
in the celebrated Colbertine library. 

We next meet with the magnificent Bible, presented by his 
favorite preceptor, Alcuin, librarian to the Archbishop of 
York, to the great Charlemagne, after he liad learned to read 
and write ; (for, although among the wisest men of his age, he 
even commenced his educational course at the tender age of 
forty-five.) This remarkable copy of the Bible was in folio 
size, richly bound in velvet ; its embellishments were of the 
most superb description, its frontispiece being brilliantly orna- 
mented with gold and colors, and its text relieved by emblem- 
atic devices, pictures, initial letters, etc. This curioijs relic 
produced at auction, in 1836, the sum of fifteen hundred 
pounds. 

In our bibliographical researches, we notice many striking 
illustrations of the indefatigable perseverance and ingenuity 
of the middle ages. One of the most conspicuous instances of 
the kind upon record is that of Guido de Jars, who devoted 
upwards of half a century to the production of a manuscript 
copy of the sacred Scriptures, beautifully written and illumi- 
8 



114 CUEIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 

nated. He began it in his fortieth year, and did not finish it 
until his ninetieth (1294). Few who have inspected such rare 
specimens of monkish taste and toil fail to be struck with their 
exceeding beauty. 

One of the most celebrated books in the annals of biblio- 
graphy is the richly illuminated Missal, executed for the Duke 
of Bedford, Regent of France in 1430. This rare volume is 
eleven inches long, seven and a half wide ; it contains fifty- 
nine large illuminations and above one thousand of smaller 
size, displayed in brilliant borders of golden foliage, with varie- 
gated flowers, richly colored and illuminated letters, etc. This 
relic, after passing through various hands, descended to the 
Duchess of Portland, whose valuable collection was sold by 
auction in 1786, when George III. ordered his librarian to bid 
up to two hundred guineas for it ; but a celebrated collector, 
Mr. Edwards, purchased the coveted relic, by adding three 
pounds more. It was subsequently sold, by auction, at Edwards' 
sale in 1815, and purchased by the Duke of Marlborough, for 
the enormous sum of £637 155. sterling ! 

Amongst the numerous, rare, and costly relics contained in 
the library of the Vatican, is the magnificent Latin Bible, of 
the Duke of Urbino ; it consists of two large folios, embellished 
by numerous figures and landscapes, in the ancient arabesque, 
and is considered a wonderful monument of art. There are 
also some autograph MS. of Petrarch's "^^m(3," which evince 
to what an extent he elaborated his versification. The muti- 
lated parchment scroll, thirty-two feet in length, literally 
covered with beautiful miniatures, representing the history 
of Joshua, ornamenting a Greek MS. bearing date about the 
seventh century, is, perhaps, the greatest literary curiosity of 
the Vatican. The Menologus, or Greek Calendar, illustrated 
by four hundred brilliant miniatures, representing the martyr- 
dom of the saints of the Greek Church, with views of the 



CURIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 115 

churches, monasteries, etc., is also curious, as presenting speci- 
mens of the Byzantium school. 

Olfric, the Saxon monk, deserves especial mention as having 
achieved the good work of rendering portions of the Old Tes- 
tament into his vernacular tongue. ""Whosoever," says he, 
" shall write out this boke, let him write it according to the 
Coptic, and for God's love, correct it, that it be not faultie, lest 
he thereby be discredited and I shent." This worthy died 
A.D. 1006, at St. Albans; his bones were, in the reign of 
Canute, removed to Canterbury. Lanfranc was another labo- 
rious and erudite scribe, to whose industrious toils the Chris- 
tian world owes much ; and which the perils from prejudices 
and pious frauds, during eight centuries of superstition and 
darkness, failed to destroy. He ultimately became primate of 
England, and patron of its learning. Another eminent guar- 
dian of the Bible was the worthy Bishop Anselm. It was a 
noble design on the part of the first printers to rescue from 
threatened annihilation the great classic works of antiquity. 
Many of these, as already said, are irretrievably lost ; and those 
we now possess narrowly escaped a similar fate. The preser- 
vation of the Holy Scriptures, however, may imdoubtedly be 
regarded as having been effected through the special interven- 
tion of Divine Providence. It is on this account that the 
integrity of the sacred text is regarded as unimpeachable, and 
its canonical records complete. Distributed in fragments, 
which were hidden in obscure recesses of monasteries and 
cloisters, it may well provoke our wonder, that, notwithstand- 
ing the fierce and continued violence of its professed opponents, 
this inestimable treasure should yet have descended to us thus 
complete and perfect. 

There were upwards of six thousand early copies of the 
Bible or portions of the Sacred Scriptures, in various languages, 
in the library of the late Duke of Sussex. 



116 CURIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 

Besides sixteen vellum copies of the Vulgate, there were two 
manuscript Bibles, profusely embellished with about one hun- 
dred exquisite miniatures, in gold and colors. In another copy 
there were nearly fift}' illustrative drawings, of a very curious 
description, one of which represented Adam delving and his 
spouse spinning ! There is no " note " to indicate the name of 
the maker of the spinning-wheel. The Duke's rich collection 
comprised some French, Italian, and Spanish Bibles ; and also an 
Italian manuscript, entitled *' Historia de Vecchio Testamento," 
which is decorated with about five hundred and twenty minia- 
tures. It contained in addition a choice copy of the Bible once 
Queen Elizabeth's, which she herself embroidered with silver ; 
and another in Arabic, which once belonged to Tippoo Saib, 

Horace Walpole's collection, at Strawberry Hill, deserves a 
passing allusion. The proceeds of the auction sale of this costly 
library produced nearly thirty-eight thousand pounds. Among 
its numerous objects of virtu was a magnificent missal, per- 
fectly unique, and superbly illuminated, being enriched with 
splendid miniatures by Eaffaelle, set in pure gold and enamel- 
led, and richl}'^ adorned with turquoises, rubies, etc. The sidea 
are formed of two matchless cornelians, with an intaglio of the 
crucifixion, and another Scripture subject; the clasp is set with 
a large garnet. This precious relic was executed expressly for 
Claude, Queen of France ; it was bought by the Earl Walde- 
grave for one hundred and fifteen guineas. Another curious 
and costly specimen of bibliography was a sumptuous volume, 
pronounced by the cognoscenti one of the most wonderful 
works of art extant, containing the Psalms of David written on 
vellum, embellished by twenty-one inimitable illuminations sur- 
rounded by exquisite scroll borders of the purest arabesque, of 
unrivalled brilliancy. Its binding is of corresponding splendor. 
Its date is about 1537. This little gem produced the sum oi 
four hundred and twenty guineas. 



CURIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 117 

Queen Elizabeth, it appears from Dibdin, was a bibliomaniac 
of transcendent fame ; her " Oone Gospell Booke, garnished 
on th' onside with the crucifix," etc., is a precious object to the 
virtuoso. It was the composition of Queen Catherine Parr, 
and was enclosed in solid gold ; it hung by a gold chain at her 
side, and was the frequent companion of the " Yirgin Queen." 
In her own handwriting at the beginning of the volume, the 
following quaint lines appear ; " I walke many times into the 
pleasaunt fieldes of the Holie Scriptures, where I pluckeupthe 
goodliesome herbes of sentences by pruning ; eate them by 
readinge ; chawe them by musing ; and laye them up at length 
in ye state of memorie by gathering them together ; that so, 
having tasted their sweeteness, I may the lesse perceave the bit- 
ternesse of this miserable life." This was penned by the 
Queen, probably while she was in captivity at Woodstock, as the 
spirit it breathes affords a singular contrast to the towering 
haughtiness of her ordinary deportment. A melancholy inter- 
est attaches to everything connected with the career of the hap- 
less Mary of Scots ; accordingly, we find great value is placed 
on the missal presented to the Queen by Pius V., and which 
accompanied her to the scaffold. The illuminations are said to 
be of extreme beauty. We read of a magnificent missal, nearly 
three feet in height, still extant in the library at Rouen, which 
occupied the labor of a monkish devotee upwards of thirty years. 
D'Israeli also refers to a huge copy of the Koran — probably 
without a parallel, as to its sise, in the annals of letters. The 
characters are described as three inches long ; the book itself a 
foot in thickness, and its other dimensions five feet by three. 

The celebrated Yaldarfer's (first) edition of Boccaccio's 
Decameron, — only one complete copy of which is believed to 
exist, — owes its preservation to the ingenuity of its first posses- 
sor ; who, during the crusade against classic literature, had it 
lettered, — " Concilium Tridentinum " / This copy became, 



118 CURIOUS AKD COSTLY BOOKS. 

in 1S12 at an auction sale, the object of an animated contest 
between the Duke of Marlborough and Earl Spencer, when it 
became the property of the former. Some years after. Lord 
Spencer bought it, at the sale of the Marlborough library, for 
the sum of £875 ! Among the rare literary treasures in the 
Spencerian library, may be named the five splendid folios of 
Shakspeare's historical plays, profusely illustrated by the 
hand of the Countess of Lucan, who devoted sixteen years of 
pleasure-toil to the completion of this magnificent work. The 
richly colored illuminations are from the best authorities, and 
consist of historic scenes and portraits. Dibdin speaks of this 
matchless production as " ablaze with gold and brilliant colors, 
from beginning to end " ! 

Antoine Zarot, an eminent printer at Milan, about 1470, was 
the first on record who printed the missal. Among other 
works his execution in colors of the celebrated Missale Roma- 
mim in folio, afforded a beautiful specimen of the art. The 
manuscript copy seems to have been of a most dazzling descrip- 
tion ; every leaf is appropriately ornamented with miniatures, 
surrounded with exquisitely elaborated borders. Its almost in- 
numerable initials, which are richly illuminated in gold and 
colors, render it unsurpassed by any known production of its 
class. It has been estimated at 250 guineas. The Comjplu- 
tensian Polyglott, otherwise known as Cardinal Ximenes', 
deserves a passing notice among the renowned books of by- 
gone times. This prodigious work was commenced under the 
auspices of the above-named prelate in 1502, and for fifteen 
years the labor was continued without intermission ; its entire 
cost amounted to 50,000 golden crowns ! Of the four large 
vellum copies, one is in the Yatican, another in the Escurial, 
and a third was bought at the sale of the McCarthy library, for 
600 guineas. 

About 1572 we meet with another splendid production — 



CFKIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 119 

the Sjpanish Polyglott, printed by Christopher Plantin. A most 
magnificent copy upon vellum, in the original binding, was sold 
in London some thirty years since, for one thousand guineas ! 
and enormous as was this price, the copy was imperfect, want- 
ing three out of the ten volumes. 

Bowyer, the well-known publisher, devoted the leisure hours 
of nearly a lifetime, in illustrating a copy of Macklin's 
folio Bible, which on his death was put up at lottery among 
four thousand subscribers at a guinea each. It contained seven 
thousand engravings ; bound in forty-five folio volumes ! 

Another indefatigable collector, Mr. Bell, of Manchester, 
has even surpassed Bowyer, in the same department. This 
copy was illustrated with nearly ten thousand engravings, and 
about eleven hundred original drawings and photographs, to- 
gether with 360 specimen leaves of old and rare editions of the 
Holy Scriptures. This sumptuous work comprises sixty-three 
large folio volumes ! 

A copy of Clarendon'' s '■^History of the RebellioirC'' was 
copiously illustrated by Mr. Sutherland, of London, at an ex- 
pense of nearly ten thousand pounds ! This work, together 
with Burnet'' s " Reformation^'' containing nineteen thou- 
sand engravings and drawings, — both, the result of forty years' 
labor, — are now among the rarities of the Bodleian Library, 
Oxford. These superb works form sixty-seven uniform vol- 
umes. Another bibliophile, Mr. G. H. Freeling, illustrated a 
copy of the " Bibliographical Decameron^'' extending it from 
three to eleven volumes, which Dibdin considered the most stu- 
pendous triumph of book-ardor with which he was acquainted. 

The well-known names of John Nicholls and John Boydell, 
publishers of London, take prominent rank among the pro- 
ducers of splendid books ; — they have the credit of having ex- 
pended the princely sum of £350,000 in fostering and improv- 
ing the sister arts of painting and engraving. Their magnificent 



120 CUEIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 

" Shahspeare Gallery " is even to this day a noble monument 
of their enterprise and skill. The gigantic speculation unfor- 
tunately failed, superinducing a loss to its projectors of over 
£100,000. Every one has probably heard of Dugdale's "J/b/i- 
astioon Anglioanum^'' in eight huge folios, illustrated. 

Murphy's " Arabian Antiquities of Sjpain^'' a beautiful 
specimen of art, cost ten thousand guineas in its execution. 
Its exquisite line engravings discover wonderful Unish. The 
splendid ceremonial of the coronation of George IV., under 
the superintendence of the late Sir George Naylor, of the 
Herald's College, furnishes another illustrious instance of costly 
bibliography. Notwithstanding the grant of the government 
of £5,000 towards the expenses, the undertaking also was a 
great pecuniary failure. It contained a series of magnificent 
paintings of the royal procession, banquet, etc., comprehending 
faithful portraits of the leading personages. The subscription 
price of a copy of the work was fifty guineas. 

Some years ago, a typographical wonder was exhibited in 
London, being a sumptuous edition of the New Testament, 
printed in gold, on porcelain paper of the most immaculate 
beauty, and, for the first time, on both sides. Two years were 
occupied in perfecting the work. Only one hundred copies 
were taken off. 

The far-famed Oreeh Testament of Erasmus, printed at 
Basle, 1519, but one copy of which is now known to exist, is 
in the cathedral of York. That renowned collector, Sir Mark 
Sykes, was refused the purchase of this rarity at the prodigious 
offer of one thousand guineas. 

The most costly undertaking ever attempted by a single in- 
dividual, of a literary character, which unquestionably the 
world has yet seen, is the magnificent work on " Mexico^'' by 
Lord Kingsborough. This stupendous work is said to have 
been produced at an enormous cost to the author. It is com- 



CURIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 121 

prised in seven immense folio volumes, embellished bj about 
one thousand colored illustrations. An item of sad interest is 
connected with the publication of this remarkable work. After 
devoting the princely sum of £60,000 to its production, such 
was his enthusiasm in the work, that he became involved in 
debt on its account, and ultimately died in debt. 

Perhaps, the greatest bibliographic monument ever erected 
to any author is Hall i well's superb edition of Shakspeare, in 
seventeen splendid folio volumes. 

Audubon's great work on the " Birds of America " is the 
grandest monument of art, of its class, ever produced. These 
plates, representing the birds, — from the eagle to the humming- 
bird, — are all life-size, and carefully colored. The engravings 
were executed in London, at a cost of twenty thousand pounds. 
The original drawings have been deposited with the New 
York Historical Society. There are so many great works of 
art, and archaeological research, that we can but name them 
briefly. DanieVs Oriental Scenery^ with one hundred and 
fifty large folio colored drawings, of the ruins of Delhi, Ele- 
phanta, and Lucknow ; ChampolliorC s Egypt, four folio vol- 
umes ; NajpoleorCs great work on Egyptian Antiquities, ten 
folio volumes, a monument of unrivalled magnificence, until 
Lepsius' superb work on the same subject made its appear- 
ance, in twelve atlas folios, Piranesi^s sumptuous works on 
Roman Antiquities, in twenty-one folio volumes, published at 
Venice, 1778, is an exhaustless treasury of classic art. Perefs 
Catacomhs of Rome, in five folios, is another superb produc- 
tion — unrivalled in its department. Another great pictorial 
wonder is, Sylvestre^s Paleographie Universelle, in four folio 
volumes, enriched with three hundred brilliant illuminations, 
fac-similes of the most sumptuous of mediaeval manuscripts. 
Yet other works of this class are Owen Joneses Illuminxited 
Boohs of the Middle Ages, folio ; and Count Bastard's work 



122 CURIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 

on the same subject, still more lavishly enriched with gold, 
silver, and brilliantly colored illustrations. Many other great 
Governmental works have been published, such as that by the 
Emperor of Russia, entitled " Les Peujples de la Russie^^ and 
Zahn^s Pomjpeii, in three elephant folios, an instance of lavish 
devotion to art. But it is impossible to enumerate more, within 
these prescribed limits. 

Then there are those great galleries of engravings, from the 
Louvre and elsewhere, — the spoils of the Napoleonic campaigns 
— the Musee Frangais, and Musee Royal^ making six folio 
volumes. The splendid work of Pistolesi, 11 Vaticano, in 
seven royal folios, containing seven hundred pictures, is worthy 
of note ; and Count LittcCs Noble Families of Italy ^ printed in 
princely style at the count's palace, forming five large folio 
volumes. This superb work is enriched with numerous illum- 
inations and colored portraits, like ivory miniatures. Splendid 
as are these costly productions, they are surpassed by some 
others; such as RajphaeVs Loggie, three folios, — comprising 
fac-similes of the magnificent frescos of the Vatican, by this 
prince of painters. 

Some old books, like old wines, acquire an increased value in 
proportion to their age. The best copy extant of Caxton's edition 
of Gower's ^^De Confessione Amantis " — one of the rarest of 
early printed books, was purchased by a Dublin bookseller, in 
1832, with some unimportant volumes, for a mere trifle ; and 
was sold afterwards for upwards of three hundred pounds ! 
It is now in the celebrated collection of Lord Spencer, at Al- 
thorp. The mania for old books still exists in full force, both 
in the old world and the new. Among celebrated collectors of 
early and later times, might be named Richard de Bury, au- 
thor of " Philobiblion," who is supposed to have had the largest 
library in all England ; Archhishojp Usher ; Sir Thomas Rod- 
ley, the first founder of a public library ; Francis Douce / Jolm 



CURIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 123 

Evelyn^ in whose library was found the Prayer-hooh which 
Charles I, used as he was led to the scaffold at Whitehall ; 
Montaigne, the essayist; Oldys, the antiquary; Dr. Parr,' 
Heber ; Dr. Kloss, of Frankfort ; the Duke of Sussex, 
whose collections were so rich in Biblical rarities ; the costly 
library of Earl Spencer, which Dibdin has so ably chronicled ; 
and lastly that of Southey, the voluminous penman and poet. 

The richest bindings belong to the age of Charlemagne, 
and a century or two later. The decorations partook of the 
barbaric splendor of those days. One such volume presented 
by that sovereign to the cathedral at Treves, is enriched with 
Roman ivories and decorative gems. Our American literary 
collectors have been not a few, but to mention two or three will 
suffice : James Lenox, who has projected a magnificent library 
— possibly to compete ultimately with the renowned Astor 
Library. Mr. Lenox's collection includes many rarities, and the 
only copy in America of the Mazarine Bible — so called from 
its having been discovered in the cardinal's library. It is the 
first book printed with metal types, and cost $2,500. The 
Astor Library comprises about one hundred and fifty thousand 
volumes ; a large proportion of which consists of the most 
valuable national productions of the various countries of Eu- 
rope — works not to be found elsewhere in America. Several 
other gentlemen have or had rich private libraries : Sparks / 
Ticknor, of Boston ; Brown, of Providence ; Peter Force, of 
"Washington, and Barlow, of New York. 

Here, then, we terminate our rambles among the literary 
spoils of past ages, garnered in our great libraries, all over the 
world. "We have not, however, noted a tithe, nay, a hundredth 
part, of these art-treasures ; and what we have glanced at, in- 
deed, seem but just enough to cause us, with " Oliver Twist," to 
" call for more." Let us, then, with Ohanning thank God for 
books. " They are the voices of the distant and the dead, and 



124: 



CURIOUS AND COSTLY BOOKS. 



make us heirs of the spiritual life of past ages. Books are the 
true levellers. They give to all who will faithfully use them, 
the society, the spiritual presence of the best and greatest of 
our race. No matter how poor I am ; no matter how obscure 
my dwelling, if the sacred writers will enter and take up their 
abode under my roof. If Milton will sing to me of Paradise, 
and Shakspeare open to me the worlds of imagination and the 
workings of the human heart, and Franklin enrich me with his 
practical wisdom, I shall not pine for intellectual companion- 
ship." 



s 7a 





SOMETHING ABOUT NOTHING. 



Scholar, — nothing is not something, or anything; and, 
although it sounds like a self-evident proposition, yet we are 
bold to affirm, that nothing is nothiag. Wherever something 
is not, there is nothing ; yet so far from its being a mere non- 
entity, nothing is often the result of ranch laborious scholastic 
and literary effort. It might be deemed, perchance, an im- 
pertinence, or an infraction of modesty, to lay claim to such a 
triumphant issue for this our humble essay ; but we are con- 
soled by the reflection, that Fame's favorites are but few, and 
her boasted chaplet of glory is really next to — nothing. 

Some misguided mortals w^aste their whole time in the 



126 SOMETHING ABOUT NOTHING. 

fruitless pursuit of nothing ; and they are successful in the 
accomplishment of their purpose. Charles Lamb, who was 
a lover of elegant leisure, once lazily remarked that " the 
best thing a man can have to do is nothing • and next to that, 
perhaps, good works ! " " Masterly inactivity " is the distin- 
guishing characteristic of some persons, who think it the best 
way of getting through life : yet we are told that laboriously 
doing nothing actually resulted in the death of the renowned 
Marshal Turenne. 

* This invisible nothing is said to fill an exhausted receiver ; 
and that it is all the same whether it be an empty tumbler, an 
empty purse, or an empty head. 

The antiquity of nothing is something considerable, far 
exceeding that of everything else; for it is evident that if 
nothing did not go before, something could not follow. 

Even the eleemosynary tendencies of some individuals result 
in nothing ; as the case of a certain party, of whom some dona- 
tion was solicited, clearly attests. " Charity's a private con- 
cern," said he ; " other gentlemen puts down what they thinks 
proper, and so do I ; and what I gives, is — nothing to nobody " ! 

Like the aforesaid, then, we offer nothing, and we trust we 
shall not be deemed penurious or illiberal, since, if nothing 
is bestowed, no obligation will be incurred ; and no apology 
demanded. Everything is of some supposable value and 
interest to somebody ; but nothing concerns nobody, and is of 
no value ; yet out of nothing what marvels have sprung into 
being. Of this remarkable negative noun, — this cipher in 
figures, this ghostly representative of vacuity, — so long min- 
gling with our social existence, and yet so mythical, what 
further can be afiirmed that has not been already stated ? 
Marvellous and mystical as it is, — ideal as it seems to be, — 
nothing is yet real ; and, at any rate, it occupies our attention 



SOMETHING ABOUT NOTHING. 127 

at this present writing, or reading, and consequently we must 
be, each of us, so far interested in discussing — nothing. 

But to resume. Although most persons prefer something as 
the theme of their discourse, by way of variety, and for the 
sake of steering out of the beaten track, we still insist on 
nothing. That the origin of this shadowless subject, like much 
of our legendary lore, is enveloped in the mists of remote an- 
tiquity, as well as shrouded in the obscurity of modern meta- 
physics, will not be disputed. It will be further admitted that 
nothing is a slender peg to hang any ideas upon ; it is pre- 
mised, therefore, that the expectations of the reader, in this 
respect, should be restrained within moderate limits, as other- 
wise it is possible, from paucity of wit on our part, the present 
attempt at its illustration may prove less than nothing. 

Nothing, or no thing, is applied either as a noun or adjective 
— stands for non-existence — non-entity or nihility (from the 
Latin root nihil). Its antagonistic term is something ; and, 
although it is like comparing shadow with substance, yet, how- 
ever invidious the comparison may prove, we are of necessity 
compelled to adopt the alternative. Talk of the mysteries of 
metaphysics — what are they as contrasted with the inextricable 
mazes of this strange, indescribable phantasm ? "What, indeed, 
can be affii-med of a thing that has no physical existence ? All 
we can say of it is, that it is not extant, or in legal phrase — non 
est inventus. In this dilemma, our only escape is to treat it nega- 
tively ; this indeed seems perfectly consistent with the nature 
and attributes of our ghostly subject. Again, nothing «5 noth- 
ing ; not any-thing, but no-thing ; its history consequently is a 
series of negations — no beginning — no existence — ^no Aid ; and 
yet, paradoxical as it may sound, nothing is associated with 
almost everything. It enters into all the sinuosities and diver- 
sified circumstances of our social economy, as well as links itself 
with the sublime story of the stellar firmament. In this view, 



128 SOMETHING ABOUT NOTHING, 

our intangible topic begins to assume a seemingly opaque form. 
For example, the great globe we inhabit is suspended upon 
nothing ; and as to its original substance, for aught we know to 
the contrary, it was evoked into being by the Hat of its Divine 
Author — out of nothing. And as it seems to have puzzled 
astronomers to determine both the origin and destiny of the 
moon, conjecture may not go widely astray, if a like mysteri- 
ous paternity be assigned to that luminous orb the poets and 
lovers so delight to celebrate. 

" The ancients have work'd upon each thing in nature, 
Describ'd its variety, genius, and feature ; 
They having exhausted all fancy could bring. 
As nothing is left, why of nothing we sing. — 
From nothing we came, and whatever our station, 
To nothing we owe an immense obligation. 

" Thinking of nothing is some folk's enjoyment, 
Doing of nothing is many's employment ; 
The love of this nothing have some folks so strong 
They say nothing — do nothing all the day long ; 
Some pass their, time nothing beginning, 
By nothing losing, and by nothing winning ; 
Nothing they buy, and nothing they sell, 
Nothing they know, and nothing they teU. 

" Thus much in conclusion, we prove pretty plain : 
Take nothing from nothing, there'll nothing remain ; 
Thus with this nothing the time out we're spinning, 
Nothing win sometimes set many folks grinning. ' ' 

A certain English bishop, on a certain occasion, found, to his 
surprise, placed on his pulpit, in lieu of his usual written ser- 
mon, merely some sheets of blank paper — to wit, nothing. 
His presence of mind, however, furnished him ample material 
— for he is said to have preached one of the best discourses he 
ever delivered. He commenced by saying, " Here, my breth- 
ren, is nothing ; and out of nothing God created the world " I 



S03IETHING ABOUT NOTHING. 129 

Many a sermon has ended in nothing, but this is the only in- 
stance we remember in which nothing furnished its commence- 
ment, its substance, and its close. Again, nothing is the very 
life and soul of many spasmodic jokes. 

Many things are poetically said to " end in smoke," more 
may be truthfully said to result in nothing. How many bright 
and cherished schemes of the devotees of mammon resolve 
themselves into nothing ! The same may be predicated of the 
plotting manoeuvres of designing dowagers in the game of 
husband-hunting, of the hapless adventurer in pursuit of mat- 
rimony " under difficulties," and of the golden visions of 
deluded diggers at the auriferous sands of the Pacific. 

Nothing seems to pervade almost every department of our 
social existence. Many a man of opvilence will boastingly as- 
sure yon, he began the world with nothing, and found it first- 
rate capital ; another less favoi*ed of blind fate or fortune, 
failing in the like experiment, deplores its delusive cheat, yet 
still clinging to the deception, keeps next to nothing all his 
life. 

Every one, doubtless, remembers the story of the economic 
individual, whose inventive wit brought his horse to live upon 
nothing — and, at the same time, to a finish of his existence. 
If the famishing for the food animal complain of their im- 
poverished condition, ought not our sympathies to be extended 
towards those who, though luxuriously cared for in all other 
respects, pine with intellectual starvation, — whose heads, in- 
stead of being luminous with undying thoughts, present noth- 
ing. The remark is no less applicable to the human heart — 
the fabled shrine of the afPections. What a pleasing and uni- 
versal fiction is it to suppose that anything of the kind really 
exists in that sentimental locality — at least, in many instances ! 
Some, in their vain search for the mysterious organ, wishing to 
take the most indulgent view of the matter, apologetically sug- 



130 SOMETHINa ABOUT NOTHING. 

ffest, in behalf of the " heartless," " that his heart cannot be 
in the right place " — the stern truth being, that nothing is 
there in its stead. 

Have you ever known any expectant patiently linger and 
long for the demise of some remarkable instance of longevity, 
vainly hoping to share some pecuniary immunity ; yet all his 
patience ending in — nothing ? There is, again, a class of bold 
individuals who are astonished at nothing — they make noth- 
ing of a trip across the Atlantic — the grand tour of Europe — 
a voyage to the Celestials — or an expedition to the El Dorado 
of the West. Such imperturbable spirits there are, who make 
nothing of wearing a shabby coat and worse continuations — 
nothing of breaking their word of honor — or of intruding with- 
out permission into their neighbor's house, and under the 
strange hallucination that onewm and tuum are convertible 
terms, display their fancy in the selection and appropriation 
of whatever they can most conveniently secure. Again, there 
are frigid subjects who make nothing <,)f the scorching rays of a 
meridian summer sun ; others who place the like estimate upon 
the withering blasts of a northern winter. Some, also, who act 
as though the profession and acting out of a religious life were 
nothing — and that time and eternity shared the like estimate. 
But we shall weary the reader with rambling repetitions ; and 
truth to say, we do not yet see " the beginning of the end " of our 
topic. If we may take breath, and venture an anticipatory 
conclusion, we should say that nothing is ecumenic — and that 
it is not only antithetical with, but twin-brother of, something ; 
for nothing negatively, is something — but positively — nothing ; 
it is yet always in close proximity, or juxtaposition, with — 
something. Nothing seems to possess advantages over meta- 
physics, if not indeed over everything else — for the former ad- 
dresses our reason merely, the latter our senses ; for we can ae^ 
nothing. Who, hunting a ghost in a haunted room, or any 



SOMETHING ABOUT NOTHING. 131 

-other wild-goose chase, has not returned answer, that he saw 
nothing? Nothing may be heard, but only when everybody 
^nd everything else is silent ; it may also be tasted — for who has 
not heard the expressively laconic complaint from a dissatisfied 
palate, that it tastes like nothing. The same may be predi- 
<;ated of the senses of smelling and feeling. Some, as we be- 
fore intimated, are impervious to feeling under any calamity ; 
jet they feel nothing. Such is the immobility of others, that 
the loss of property, character, friends, or relations, are all 
nothing to them. 

Some, again, love nothing; others, more amiable, hate it ; and 
others, more bold, are said to fear nothing. Some erudite 
authors fill their ponderous pages in reality with — nothing. 
What, indeed, could afford more demonstrable evidence of its 
verity than this present writing — nothing commenced it, noth- 
ing continued it, and — nothing must close it ; and as tliis brings 
us to the dilemma of its endless duration, we at once take ref- 
uge in the following clever " summing up " of a sonnet by an 
anonymous writer : 

"Mysterious nothing! how shall I define 

Thy shapeless, baseless, placeless emptiness ; 
Nor form, nor color, sound, nor size are thine, 

Nor words, nor fingers, can thy voice express ; 
But though we cannot thee to aught compare, 

A thousand things to thee may likened be, 
And though thou art with nobody nowhere, 

Yet half mankind devote themselves to thee. 
How many books thy history contain, 

How many heads thy mighty plans pursue, 
What lab'ring hands thy portion only gain, 

What busybodies thy doings only do ! 
To thee the great, the proud, the giddy bend, 

And, like my sonnet — all in nothing end." 

"We might here, perhaps, have effected a safe retreat from the 
entanglement of our knotty topic, were we not desirous of aton- 



132 SOMETHING ABOUT NOTHING. 

ing for our trifling by an attempt to educe a moral from it. 
Lest some should think we have proved the obverse of what we 
proposed, and actually made nothing out of nothing, we are 
frank to confess this is not what we designed, in the treat- 
ment of this untenable and intractable topic. But to our moral. 

Some unfortunate persons, there may be, who are accustomed 
erroneously to construe the term we have so often played upon, 
as synonymous with others of a very different signification. 

For instance, those who are addicted to libations deep would 
have you believe that intoxication is nothing, — so would the 
purloiner, theft ; the profane, swearing ; the indolent, industry y 
and the man of violence, murder. 

*' 'Tis nothing, says the fool; but, says his friend, 
'Tis nothing, sir, will bring you to your end ! " 

And this sagacious couplet ou.ght to bring us to ours, — in the 
words of a well-remembered classic author, which may be con- 
strued according to the taste of the reader, without impugning- 
the modesty of the writer : 

" Nihil tetigit non omavit ! " 

Should the reader still be curious to see — nothing, he has- 
only to close his eyes ; and if, in conclusion, he requires any 
further description of the aforesaid, we sum all the testimony 
by stating, that it is that which, 

' ' The contented man desires ; 
The poor man has ; the rich requires ; 
The miser gives ; the spendthrift saves ; 
And all must carry to their graves." 

In our analysis of nothing, we ought not to forget its first 
syllable no — the second syllable — thing, may speak for itself. 
Anything is not no-thing ; but a thing is a thing ; this is a 
self-evident proposition. A contemporary * has so ably discussed 

* Merchants' Ledger. 



SOMETHING ABOUT NOTHING. 133 

the little negation, that we take the liberty of presenting his 
strictures to the reader : 

" A very little word is iVb. It is composed of but two let- 
ters and only forms a syllable. In meaning it is so definite as 
to defy misunderstanding. Young lips find its articulation 
easy. Diminutive in size, evident in import, easy of utterance, 
frequent in use, and necessary in ordinary speech, it seems one 
of the simplest and most harmless of all words. Yet there are 
those to whom it is almost a terror. Its sound makes them 
afraid. They would expurgate it from their vocabulary if they 
could. The little monosyllable sticks in their throat. Their 
pliable and easy temper inclines them to conformity, and fre- 
quently works their bane. Assailed by the solicitations of 
pleasure they are sure to yield, for at once and resolutely they 
will not repeat — Ifo. Plied with the intoxicating cup they sel- 
dom overcome, for their facile nature refuses to express itself 
in— iVb. Encountering temptation in the hard and duteous 
path they are likely to falter and fall, for they have not bold- 
ness to speak out the decided negative — N'o. Amid the mists 
of time, and involved in the labyrinthine mazes of error, they 
are liable to forget eternal verities and join the ribald jest, for 
they have not been accustomed to utter an emphatic — N'o. 

" All the noble souls and heroes of history have held them- 
selves ready, whenever it was demanded, to say — N'o. The 
poet said — No, to the sloth and indolence which consumed his 
precious hours, and wove for himself in heavenly song a gar- 
land of immortality. The martyred hosts said — No, to the 
pagan powers that demanded a recantation of their faith, and 
swift from the fire and the torture their souls uprose to the 
rewards and beatitude of heaven." 

No-hody, seems by a natural affinity to belong to no-thing, 
so something ought to be said about it. 

!Nobody is a most mischievous and meddlesome personage ; 



134 



SOMETHING ABOUT NOTHING. 



for he is often engaged in the perpetration of some marvellous- 
deeds. He is often guilty of arson, murder, and other grand 
misdemeanors ; lie stirs up strife, and severs firm friends. It is- 
also true that there are some " bright lights " in his character,, 
and occasionally he is nobly implicated in some noble acts of 
beneficence. 

Possibly, the foregoing talk about nothing may be deemed 
very nonsensical ; and yet, a little nonsense is, sometimes, ad- 
missible. Confectionery, at any rate, finds favor with the fair, 
the sterner despise the dainty trifles. 




-^<^^ 




SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 



" Mirth is the medicine of life, — 
It cures its ills, it calms its i jnie ; 
It softly smooths the brow of care. 
And writes a thousand graces there." 

It has been justly said that recreation, exactly considered, is 
an advantage which few, if any, are willing altogether to forego, 
and which the most severe philosophy does not deny. It is, in- 
deed, in one form or other, the object of universal pursuit — 
for without its participation to some extent, life would lose its 
principal attraction, and mankind would degenerate into the 
settled gloom of moody melancholy. Relaxation from the 
severer toils of life is as necessary to human existence, as light 
is to the physical universe ; without its appropriate indulgence, 



136 SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 

all the pleasant things which impart their thousand charms to 
our social economy, would at once become eclipsed in the dark- 
ness of desolation and despair. If it be true that man is the only 
animal that laughs, is it not fair to infer that, by an occasional 
indulgence of his risible faculty, he is but fulfilling a part of 
his destiny ? Very much might be urged in favor of a hearty 
laugh — it is not only highly exhilarating, but also very infec- 
tious ; and the doctors tell us, it is an excellent help to digestion 
and health. Bishop Hall remarks, " Reci-eation is intended to 
the mind, as whetting is to the scythe, to sharpen the edge of 
it, which otherwise would grow dull and blunt. He, therefore, 
that spends his whole time in recreation is ever whetting, never 
mowing ; as contrarily, he that always toils, and never recre- 
ates, is ever mowing, never whetting — laboring much to little 
purpose ; as good no scythe, as no edge. I would so inter- 
change, that I neither be dull with work, nor idle and wanton 
with recreation." 

Every nation, civilized and savage, has its dance, of one kind 
or another ; its universality proves that it is a natural recrea- 
tion. It is an excellent muscular exercise, and on this account 
highly recommended by physicians. It has the advantage, too, 
that it tends to promote social intercourse between the sexes ; 
refine and soften the manners of the one, and to give confi- 
aence to the other. Yet, uniting these advantages, dancing by 
some is highly condemned, as a misapplication of time, and as 
calculated to divert the attention from objects of higher im- 
portance. True, we ought not to let any pleasure occupy too 
much of our time ; but that youth needs some amusements, no 
person of age, when he calls to remembrance his own days of 
joyance, will deny. Still, we admit that, as frequently in- 
dulged in, by our modern fashionable society, dancing is made 
the occasion of inducing laxity in both morals and manners. 
This is its bane. Dancing is the most universal, as well aa one 



SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 137 

of the most ancient of all pastimes. During the earlier ages, 
it was invested with the sanctity of a religious rite — the Leviti- 
cal law of the Jews requiring it to be exhibited at the celebra- 
tion of their solemn feasts; the Psalms of David make fre- 
quent allusions to the practice ; and, indeed, in the temple at 
Jerusalem, a stage was erected for these exercises, called the 
choir — a term still retained in our churches, and now appropri- 
ated to the singers. 

The Greeks and Romans adopted dancing at their festivals, 
after their ancestors, and the practice lias continued uninter- 
ruptedly down to our own times. The Spartans were most 
studious in the cultivation of the celebrated Pyrrhic dance. 
The most celebrated games of the Greeks were the Olympic, 
the Pythian, the Nemean and the Isthmian. These differed 
little from each other ; their designations indicating the places 
where they were held. These games were celebrated with great 
pomp and magnificence. The most distinguished authors of 
Greece also obtained prizes at Olympia, for excelling in con- 
tests, not of physical, but of mental power. Even the red men 
of the forest have their various dances, devoted to the seasons, 
hunting and war. No less popular was the well-known Morris 
dance of Shakspeare's days ; the origin of which is ascribed 
to the Moors. The Morris dance was not absolutely limited to 
any period of the year, though it seems to have been con- 
sidered as most appropriate to Whitsuntide and May-day. 

Amusements and recreations are an index to character, not 
only individual, but national ; for in our times of relaxation, 
we are most apt to throw off life's disguises. 

" Almost everything else may be lost to a nation's history, 
but its sports and pastimes ; the diversions of a people being 
commonly interwoven with some immutable element of the 
general feeling, or perpetuated by circumstances of climate or 
locality — these will frequently sur\ive, when every other 



138 SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 

national peculiarity has worn itself out, and fallen into obliv- 
ion." * As the minds of children, modified by the forms of 
society, are pretty much the same in all countries, there will 
be found but little variation in their ordinary pastimes — a 
remark no less applicable to those nations, which, from their 
non-advancement in civilization, may be said to have still 
retained their childhood. 

Few, if any of our popular pastimes and sports, may be said 
to be new ; they will be found to be either of Pagan, Jewish, 
Popish, or Christian origin, modified often by the genius of the 
times. Some bearing the impress of the chivalric age of the 
Crusades, or the romantic enthusiasm of the mediaeval times ; 
and others retaining the characteristics either of the Puritan 
austerity of England's Commonwealth, or the laxity of the 
age that followed. 

The Jews, according to the Mosaic law, were accustomed to 
observe, in addition to their weekly Sabbaths, thirty holy days. 
They had other festivals also, not enjoined by their law, such 
as those of Purim and the Dedication, the last named continu- 
ing eight days. 

We do not intend to dilate at length upon these, but simply 
to take a glance at the more prominent diversions and frolics 
with which society in former times beguiled itself of its sor- 
rows, and the severer duties of life. "VVe refrain from tracing 
our subject back to its earliest origin — the pastimes of a rude 
age — because they would naturally be expected to partake, in 
no small degree, of the manners and habits of which they 
were the reflex. We may infer from our own Indians, that 
athletic exercises and the chase, were among the primitive di- 
versions of mankind. We must not, however, be tempted to 
inquire too curiously concerning these primitive pastimes, if we 
would judge them by the refinement and taste which character- 

* Horace Smith. 



SPORTS aXD pastimes. 139 

ize our modern modes of diversion, such as music, the fine arts, 
the drama, and literary entertainments. 

Field sports still exist, under certain modifications, as they 
did under the " Mosaic dispensation : " where we read of Nim- 
rod, " a mighty hunter," and the progenitor of his class. The 
chase has supplied a theme for some of the classic writers. 
Xenophon repudiated hunting, as well as Solon. By the Eo- 
man law, game was never deemed an exclusive privilege, ex- 
cept when extending over private lands, when permission was 
to be obtained of the proprietor. When Rome became over- 
run by the Goths and Yandals, they perverted the natural rights 
to a royal one ; a feature still retained in some European States ; 
the prescriptive right to hunt over certain grounds being vested 
in the sovereign, or those to whom the crown may delegate 
it. 

Edward III. was such a devotee to sports of this kind that 
even during his hostile engagements with France, he could not 
refrain from their indulgence. While in the Frencli dominions 
he had with him, according to Froissart, sixty couple of stag- 
hounds and as many hare-hounds, every day amusing himself 
at intervals, with hunting or hawking. He is said to have kept 
a princely stud of horses and six hundred dogs for this pur- 
pose. 

This passion extended itself during the middle ages to the 
clergy : for Chaucer satirizes the monks, for their predilection 
for the hunter's horn, over cloistered seclusion ; and even 
in later times in England, sporting bishops and vicars have 
not been wanting to provoke the just indignation of society. 
Queen Elizabeth used to patronize these sports, with a retinue 
of her courtly dames and lordly knights, even as late as her 
seventy-seventh year, — at which time it is recorded, " that her 
majesty was excellently disposed to hunting, for every second 



140 SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 

day she was to be seen on horseback, continuing the sport for a 
long time." 

Falconry appears to have been carried to great perfection, 
and to have been extensively pursued, in the different countries 
of Europe, about the twelfth century, when it was the favorite 
amusement, not only of kings and nobles, but of ladies of dis- 
tinction, and the clergy, who attached themselves to it no less 
zealously than they had done to hunting, although it was equally 
included in the prohibitory canons of the church. IS'o person 
of rank was represented without the hawk upon his hand, as an 
indisputable criterion of station and dignity: the bird of prey 
(no inappropriate emblem of nobility in the feudal ages) was 
never suffered to be long absent from the wrist. In travelling, 
visiting, or the transaction of affairs of business, the hawk still 
remained perched upon the hand, which it stamped with dis- 
tinction. 

The grand falconer, in full costume, with his falcon perched 
upon his wrist, was a most picturesque-looking individual : and 
his attendants, bearing the perches for the hooded birds, made 
up a busy, animated and excited group. But the sport of hawk- 
ing, like that of archery, gave way to other pursuits ; and the 
fowling-piece superseded the hooded hawk which, since the days 
of Alfred, had been held in such high esteem by the gentle- 
born and chivalrous spirits of Old England. 

Edward the Confessor, it is believed, wrote a book on the pas- 
time which is still extant. In the East, the Persians are skil- 
ful in training falcons, — birds of prey, a superior kind of hawk, 
— to hunt all manner of birds, and even gazelles : and in civi- 
lized Europe generally, a knowledge of the management of 
hawks was deemed a mark of polite education, and a hawk on 
the hand marked social position. Hawking had its technology, 
also, like heraldry. The office of grand falconer of England 
is still an hereditary service of the crown. The " King's Mews," 



SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 141 

at Charing, derives its name from the building in which the 
King's hawks were kept, while they mewed or moulted. 

With respect to archery, it is sufficient to remark that the 
bow was the most ancient and common of all weapons ; Ish- 
mael, the wanderer, was an archer — so were the heroes of 
Homer, and the warriors of most nations. During the Hept- 
archy, Off rid, son of Edwin, King of Northumberland, was 
slain by an arrow ; other historic celebrities might be mentioned 
who shared a similar fate. The Saxons claim the introduc- 
tion of both the long and cross-bow into Britain ; their succes- 
sors, the Danes, were also great archers. 

The well-known story of Alfred the Great in the peasant's 
cottage, suffering her cakes to burn, was owing to his being en- 
gaged in preparing his bow and arrows. Of the great power 
and precision with which arrows may be discharged, we have 
sufficient evidence, without that afforded by the apocryphal 
exploits of Robin Hood, or William Tell. Our Indians may 
be cited as specimens of the wonderful exactness of aim, of 
which the instrument is susceptible. 

William Rufus, it will be remembered, was indebted to one 
of these swift-winged messengers of death, for his dismission 
from the field of strife : and the famous battles of Cressy and 
of Agincourt bore testimony to their fatal use. The practice 
of archery possesses undoubted advantages, in point of health 
and exercise, over most of the athletic diversions, or field sports, 
without their objectionable features. Archery is attended with 
no cruelty : it sheds no innocent blood, nor does it torture 
harmless animals; charges which lie heavy against some 
other amusements. 

The practice of baiting animals, so naturally revolting to our 
modern taste, seems, in former times, to have been invested with 
something of the chivaxrous and romantic. These cruel enter- 
tainments, Julius CsBsar introduced among the Romans ; frorc 



l42 SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 

them it was adopted by the Spaniards, the Portuguese, and the 
English. The Spaniards have been the most conspicuous for 
their refined cruelties, in connection with this brutal sport; 
the}^ have also invested its ceremonies with the greatest splendor 
and pageantry. 

In the Greek bull-fights, the devoted animals were turned 
out with an equal number of horsemen, each combatant select- 
ing his victim. From the following account of a bull-fight in 
the Coliseum at Rome, 1332, from Muratori, some idea may be 
formed of the ceremonies and dangers attending those extra- 
ordinary exhibitions : 

" A general proclamation, as far as Rimini and Ravenna, in- 
vited the nobles to exercise their skill and courage in this peri- 
lous adventure. The Roman ladies were marshalled in three 
squadrons, and seated in three balconies, which were lined with 
scarlet cloth. The lots of the champions were drawn by an 
old and respectable citizen, and they descended into the arena 
to encounter the wild animals on foot, with a single spear. 
Amid the crowd were the names, colors, and devices of twenty 
of the most conspicuous knights of Rome. The combats of 
the amphitheatre were dangerous and bloody. Every cham- 
pion successively encountered a wild bull, and the victory may 
be ascribed to the quadrupeds, since no more than eleven were 
left on the field with the loss of nine wounded, and eighteen 
killed on the side of their adversaries. Some of the noblest 
families might mourn, but the pomp of the funerals in the 
churches of St. John Lateran, and St. Maria Maggiore, afforded 
a second holiday to the people, which was, of course, a thing of 
superior moment. Doubtless it was not in such conflicts that 
the blood of the Romans should have been shed ; yet in blam- 
ing their rashness, we are compelled to applaud their gallantry," 
continues our author, " and the noble volunteers, who display 
their munificence and risk their lives under the balconies of the 



SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 143 

fair, excite a more generous sympathy than the thousands of 
captives and malefactors, who were reluctantly dragged to the 
scene of slaughter." 

The ceremonies in Spain, commence by a kind of procession 
in which the combatants, on horse and on foot, appear, after 
which two alguazils, dressed in perukes and black robes, ad- 
vance, with great affected gravity, on horseback, and ask the 
president for the signal for the commencement of the entertain- 
ment. As the bull rushes in, he is received with loud shouts 
which rend the air, and tend to excite to frenzy the infuriated 
beast ; when the picadores or equestrian combatants, dressed in 
a quaint old Castilian costume, and armed with a long la-nce, 
wait to meet and repel their antagonist. These encounters re- 
quire, of course, extraordinary courage and dexterity ; and for- 
merly they were regarded as marks of honorable ambition and 
distinction, having sometimes been enlisted in by those of noble 
blood. Even at the present time hidalgos are said to solicit the 
honor of fighting the bull on horseback, and they are then pre- 
viously presented to the audience under the auspices of a patron 
connected with the court. Should the animal become terror- 
struck, and seek to avoid his persecutors, if nothing else can 
awaken his courage and fury, the cry Perros ! jperros ! brings 
forth new enemies, and huge dogs are let loose upon him. He 
then tosses the dogs into the air, and although they usually fall 
down stunned and mangled, they generally renew their attack 
till their adversary falls. Sometimes the bull, irritated by the 
pointed steel, gores the horse and overturns his rider, who, 
when dismounted and disarmed, would be exposed to imminent 
danger, did not attendant combatants divert the animal's atten- 
tion by holding before him pieces of cloth of various colors. 
This act is attended, however, with great peril, the only rescue 
being by jumping over the barrier, which throws the spectators 



144 SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 

into a chaos of confusion from fear of the rabid animal's mak- 
ing a direct descent upon themselves. 

It is to be admitted, however, that the sin of baiting animals 
does not rest alone with the Spaniards or the ancient Romans, 
— although the gladiatorial exploits of the cruel monsters, Nero 
and Commodus, surpass all for their savage brutality. James 
I., amongst other sapient performances, perpetrated a " Boke 
of Sports," for the regulation of popular pastimes and amuse- 
ments, intimating by it what particular kinds of recreation 
were to be allowed on Sundays and festivals of the church — 
such as running, vaulting, morris-dancing, etc., and prohibit- 
ing, upon those days, bowling, bear and bull-baitings. 

Bishop Burnet, in his " History of his own Times," speaking 
of this noted monarch, complains that his court fell into much 
extravagance in masquerading — ^^"both king and court going 
about masked, going into houses unknown, and dancing there 
with a great deal of wild frolic." 

As early as the ninth century, hunting formed an item of 
education, and was patronized by the nobility. Alfred the Great 
was an expert hunter at twelve years of age ; and Edward the 
Confessor, according to the ancient chronicles, " took the great- 
est delight to follow a pack of swift hounds in pursuit of game, 
and to cheer them on with his voice." William the Norman, 
and several of his crowned successors, down to James I., seem 
to have been alike addicted to the pastime. The last-named 
individual is said to have divided his time equally betwixt his 
standish, his bottle and his hunting ; the last had his fair 
weather, the two former his dull and cloudy. 

Contemplative men seem to have been fond of amusements 
accordant with their pursuits and habits. The tranquil recrea- 
tion of angling has won a preference with many, over more 
boisterous pm-suits, from the fascinations imparted to it, by 
the quaint and delightful work of Izaak Walton. Sir Henry 



SPORTS A^^D PASTIMES 145 

Wotton styles angling, " Idle time not idly spent : " to a medi- 
tative mind, possibly, it may be so, but we think many a de- 
votee of " fly fishing " will be found to have been much more 
lavish in his expenditure of time than is warranted by its re- 
sults. Paley, it may be remembered, was accustomed to in- 
dulge in this pursuit : he had a portrait painted with a rod and 
line in his hand. 

Let us not forget that this art of angling was discoursed of, 
in one of the earliest books printed in England ; and what is 
not less remarkable is, that the work was written by a lady. 
She was Dame Juliana Berners, Prioress of the Nunnery of 
Sopewell, — the same who wrote on hawking ; but gives prefer- 
ence to angling, because, he says, " if the angler take fishe, 
surely, thenne, is there no man merrier than he in hys spyrit." 

Angling has not only been glorified by Izaak Walton, it may 
also claim the sanction of Holy Writ, — some of the Apostles 
having been of the craft. 

" In this pleasant and harmless Art of Angling, a man hath 
none to quarrel with but himself," says Izaak Walton, " and he 
may employ his thoughts in the noblest studies, almost as 
freely as in his closet- The minds of anglers are usually more 
calm and composed than others ; and suppose he take nothing, 
yet he enjoyeth a delightful walk, by pleasant views, in sweet 
pastures, among odoriferous flowers, which gratify his senses 
and delight his mind ; " and he adds, " I know no sort of men 
"less subject to melancholy than the anglers ; many have cast 
off other recreations and embraced it, but I never knew an 
angler wholly cast off his affection to his beloved recreation." 

In the reign of Charles II., ladies used to practise angling, 
in the canal of St. James' Park, London ; according to Izaak 
Walton, "their tackle was very beautiful and costly, which 
they were fond of displaying." The piscatory art being still 
one of our most popular of pastimes, it is needless to dilate 
10 



14:6 SPORTS AND PASTBIES. 

Upon its fascinating attractions. Some invetei'ate anglei*s 
must, however, have a curious history to give of their experi- 
ence ; for man}'^ of them have been " odd fish " themselves — 
flat fish, M'e may say, in some instances, since they will sit on a 
damp, muddy bank the live-long day, contented if they are but 
regaled v^dth even the symptoms of a " nibble." 

We pass now to notice briefly the well-known and popular 
sport — horse-racing, and its kindred associations. It has been 
conjectured that these amusements of the turf were in vogue 
with the Saxons, from the fact that Hugh, the founder of the 
House of the Capets of France, among other royal gifts, " pre- 
sented several winning horses, with their saddles and bridles," 
etc. The sedate John Locke writes as follows : 

" The sports of England, which perhaps a curious stranger 
would be glad to see, are horse-racing, hawking and hunting, 
bowling ; at Marebone and Putney, he may see several persons 
of quality bowling two or three times a week all the summer ; 
wrestling in Lincoln's Inn Fields, every evening all summer ; 
bear and bull-baiting, and sometimes prizes at the Bear-Garden ; 
shooting in the long bow, and stob-ball in Tothill Fields ; 
cudgel-playing at several places in the country ; and hurling 
in Cornwall." 

Of wrestling and pugilistic games we forbear to speak; 
modern gymnastics and calisthenics are a meet substitute for 
the former, since they include all their advantages, in the de- 
velopment of physical strength, without any of their objection- 
able features. As a winter sport, skating naturally suggests 
itself — a diversion mentioned by a monkish writer as far back 
as 1170. A fast skater, on good ice, will nearly equal the race- 
horse for a short distance. The London belles may be seen 
thus sportively employed on a fine winter's day on the Serpen- 
tine, Hyde Park, and hundreds more on the lakes of our 
" Central " and " Prospect " Parks, and elsewhere. Like buffalo 



SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 147 

hunting — the most exciting, because hazardous of all sports — 
however, skating is attended with the occasional risk of a fall 
on the ice, and sometimes under it, affording the courageous 
skater the benefit of a cold bath, with the chance of an entailed 
rheun^ atism, if not, indeed, loss of life itself. From the sug- 
gestion of a ducking under the ice, one is naturally reminded 
of swimming or voluntary bathing, than which few expedients 
are more conducive to health and longevity. The world 
is now awake to this, and even the faculty are found frank 
enough to confess the fact, and to recommend frequent ablu- 
tions. 

The important utility, in cases of accident, of being able to 
swim, every one knows, but every one does not acquire the art 
notwithstanding ; yet it is easy of attainment, and also adds 
much to the pleasure of bathing. Cramps, crabs, and the 
chance of becoming food for fishes, are among the doubtful 
attractions of old Neptune, — healthfulness and vigor to the 
young, and rejuvenescence to the aged, as well as a delicious 
physical enjoyment, while in his rough embraces, — are among 
the positive pleasures. 

Tennis was a favorite game among the Romans : it is less in 
vogue in modern times, cricket having to some extent usurped 
its place. All classes play at it in England. Some years past 
there was a strong contest between eleven Greenwich pension- 
ers, with only one leg a-piece, against an equal number 
of their brethren, who were minus an arm, but the one- 
legged boys won. As with many other English sports, ladies 
sometimes join the band of cricketers ; some time ago 
there was a match played between an equal number of 
married and unmarried women ; in which the matrons came 
off victors. 

There are numerous domestic games and pastimes which 
might be mentioned, both of pas times and the present; it 



148 SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 

may suffice simply to name the following — chess and cards. 
An instance of chess upon a large scale is recorded of Don 
John of Austria, who had a room in his palace which had a 
pavement of checkered white and black marble; upon this- 
living men, in varied costumes, moved under his directions, 
accordino; to the laws of chess. It is also related of a Duke 
of "Weimar, that he had squares of black and white marble on 
which he played at chess with real soldiers. A game of chess 
involves sometimes a sevei*e test of temper; it is said the 
Swedish maidens used formerly to try the mettle of their hus- 
bands elect at the chess table, and that this ordeal decided 
their fate in the affair of matrimony. According to Mr. 
Basterot, a late French authority, this game was invented 
during the sixth centurj^ by an Indian Brahmin, called Sisla^ 
who presented his invention to the reigning monarch, Sirham, 
requesting as a reward, one grain of wheat for the first square,_ 
two grains for the second, and four for the third, and so on, 
in geometrical progression, up to the sixty-fourth ; to reach 
the amount of this humble request, the author informs us, 
w^ould require the entire wheat crop of France during one 
hundred and forty years. Of billiards, dice, and other games 
usually associated with the practice of gambling, as well as 
of theatricals in general, it is not necessary to speak, they being 
already familiar to the reader. 

Billiards, chess, whist, faro, croquet, draughts and other like 
games are too well known to require farther mention. D'Israeli 
has an amusing chapter devoted to the amusements of the 
learned, from which we shall cite a few facts : Among the 
Jesuits it was a standing rule of order, that after an application 
to study of two hours, the mind should be bent by some relaxa-^ 
tion, however trifling. When Petavius was engaged upon his- 
" Dogmata Theologica," a work of the most profound erudition^ 



SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 149 

the choice recreation of the learned father was, at the end of 
every second hour, to twirl his chair for five minutes. Tycho 
Brahe amused himself with polishing glasses for spectacles and 
making mathematical instruments. Descartes beguiled him- 
self of his literary labors, like John Evelyn, Pope, Cowper, and 
many others, in the cultm'e of flowers. 

All nations have proved the fallacy of seeking to impose 
restraints against the necessary recreations of life ; the stern 
necessities of our mental and physical constitution, have long 
since determined the fact with the authority of law. 

" It were unjust and ungrateful to conceive that the amuse- 
ments of life are altogether forbidden by its beneficent Author. 
They are ' the wells of the desert ; ' the kind resting-place in 
which toil may relax, in which the weary spirit may recover its 
tone, and where the desponding mind may reassume its strength 
and its hopes. 

"Even in the scenes of relaxation, therefore, they have a 
tendency to preserve the dignity of human character, and to 
fill up the vacant and unguarded hours of life with occupa- 
tions, innocent, at least, if not virtuous. But their principal 
effect, perhaps, is upon the social character of man. When, 
men assemble, accordingly, for the purpose of general happi- 
ness or joy, they exhibit to the thoughtful eye one of the most 
pleasing appearances of their original character. They leave 
behind them, for a time, the faults of their station and the 
asperities of their temper ; they forget the secret views and the 
selfish purposes of their ordinary life, and mingle with the 
crowd around them with no other view than to receive and 
■communicate happiness. It is not, therefore, the use of the 
innocent amusements of life which is dangerous, but the abuse 
of them ; it is not when they are occasionally, but when they 
\re constantly pursued ; when the love of amusement degene- 



150 



SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 



rates into a passion ; and when, from being an occasional in« 
dnlgence, it becomes a habitual desire." * 

Thus the serious side of life is qualified by its mirthful. 
" The most grave and studious," said Plutarch^ " use feasts 
and jests and toys, as we do sauce to our meats." 

* Alison. 





BOOK CRAFT. 



" Mightiest of the mighty means, 

On which the arm of Progress leans — 
Man's noblest mission to advance, 
His woes assuage, his weal enhance. 
His rights enforce, his wrongs redress — 
Mightiest of the mighty is the Press V—Bowring, 

The invention of the " art preservative of arts " — Printing, 
like the faculty of speech, seems to have come to us " like a 
divine revelation in the history of man ! " We ask — 

"Whence did the wondrous mystic art arise, 
Of painting speech, and speaking to the eyes ? " 

Yet no oracle is responsive to the inquiry ; and all we 
know is, that the Decalogue was written upon stone tablets, 



152 BOOK CRAFT. 

and that picture-writing or hieroglyphs were in use among the 
earliest races of mankind. This fact is abundantly indicated 
by the inscriptions and sculptured stones which everywhere 
abound amid the ruins, recently exhumed, of Babylon, Phoeni- 
cia, Chaldea, Egypt, Arabia, and India. Much learned discus- 
sion has been devoted to the subject of alphabetical writing, 
also ; there can be little doubt, however, of its being of Divine 
origin. 

Seven cities of classic Greece, it will be remembered, con- 
tended for the honor of being the birth-place of Homer ; and 
the contest for the honor of giving birth to a discovery, the 
greatest in the history of the arts of life, is also stoutly con- 
tended for, by three of the cities of Continental Europe — 
Haarlem, Mentz, and Frankfort. These rival cities stand like 
armed champions, challenging each for the prize. Haarlem 
has erected a statue to Koster ; Mentz has thus immortalized 
Guttenberg ; while Frankfort has a magnificent monument 
erected to the memory of the three claimants jointly — Gutten- 
berg:, Faust and Schseffer. It seems that these three were as- 
sociated together in the earliest inception and development of 
the art of Printing ; Faust, or Fust, had no share in the inven- 
tion of the art, he only advanced funds to enable Guttenbei-g to 
establish the printing business at Mentz : this was, it is be- 
lieved, in 1450. Two years later they had a disagreement, and a 
lawsuit ensued ; and Guttenberg then took into partnership his 
son-in-law, Schseffer, who had been in their employment, and 
who had perfected the process of making movable metallic 
type by the invention of the punch. For several years they 
kept the printing process a secret, and produced many works, 
among which was the first printed edition of a classic author — 
the De Offioiis — of Cicero — a copy of which is in the Astor 
Library. In 1462, Mentz was sacked, and Faust's establish- 



BOOK CRAFT. 153 

ment was broken up. His workmen were scattered, and bis 
secret was divulged by tbem in otber countries. 

In the old library at Strasburg is, or was before the late war, 
this literary relic — a small folio-volume, comprising the depo- 
sitions in the famous lawsuit between Faust and Guttenberg, 
written, it is said, by a contemporary hand. 

According to recent researches it appears that Haarlem is 
entitled to the preeminence first claimed for it by Ulric Tell, 
an eminent printer of Cologne, who is quoted in the Cologne 
Chronicle of 1499. He ascribes the first discovery of the art 
to Lawrence Janssen, or Koster, warden of the Cathedral 
Church at Haarlem, who, one day walking in the woods, 
amused liimself by cutting letters in the bark of a tree, and 
taking impressions from them for his children ; and thus his 
idea of printing was first suggested. He pursued the idea, 
invented a thicker ink, and soon produced hloch-hooks. The 
same authority supposes Faust and Guttenberg were first en- 
gaged as assistants to Koster. Of the truth of the story of 
Faust's robbery of Koster's printing-office we shall leave our 
readers to decide. There can be no doubt that the use of cut 
metal types was achieved at Mentz, where the art received its 
chief improvements, and mainly by Guttenberg, Faust, and 
Scheeffer. They concealed their new improvements by ad- 
ministering an oath of secrecy to all their servants and work- 
men, till the sacking of the city of Mentz. The prevailing 
opinion of critics then upon the disputed claims of these con- 
testants seems to be, that to tlie German triumvirate belongs 
the honor of having been the first to employ movable metallic 
types, matrices, and punches, in printing ; and if so, they are 
entitled to wear their proud laurels. 

To the invaluable invention of the Press are books, indeed, 
indebted for their limitless multiplication ; and among the 
many immunities of our advanced civilization the least is not 



154 BOOK CRAFT. 

the Priuting-press. It is fitting that the advent of the " divine 
art " should be first sanctified by religion. The first boob 
ever printed with metal types was the Bible, in Latin, consist- 
ing of 1,282 pages folio. Though a fii'st attempt, it is beauti- 
fully printed on very fine paper, and with superior ink. At 
least eighteen copies of' this famous edition are known to be in 
existence in the several great libraries of Europe, at the pres- 
ent time. It is known as the Mazarine Bible; from having 
been first found in the library of Cardinal Mazarine. 

A copy cost the purchaser, Mr. Lenox, of New York, some 
years since, $2,500, but it would bring nearly double that sum 
now. The nvmiber of Bibles printed between 1450 and 1500 
was much larger than is generally supposed ; and among them 
were several in German. The Pentateuch, and the history of 
Job, are the most ancient books in the world ; and in profane 
literature, the works of Homer, Hesiod, and Herodotus. 

To form an approximate estimate of the value of the Print- 
ing-press, we have only to contrast our own times with those 
which preceded its discovery. The dawn of printing was like 
the outburst of a new revelation ; and, like the dawn of light, 
it led to the discovery of other great facts and results which 
otherwise might have never blessed the world. The era of 
printing introduced the general revival of learning, and the 
Keformation in Germany. 

We should tell nothing new to the reader at all conversant 
with the pleasant and curious antiquities of bibliography, were 
we to refer to the early materials and fabric of books — the 
Egyptian papyrus plant, or the Ilerculaneum manuscripts ; * or 
the waxen tablets of the Greeks and Romans, written with the 
stylus, which has afforded to our vernacular its two widely 

*The Greek MSS. in Herculaneum consist of papyrus, rolled, charred,, 
and matted together by the fire, and are about nine inches long, and one, 
two, or thre^mches in diameter, each being a volume or separate treatise. 



BOOK CRAFT. 155 

different terms — style and stiletto; or of the metals wliicb 
were sometimes used for inscribing ; or of the skins first pre- 
pared at Pergamus, (parchment,) which the Romans, in their 
luxurious days, used to manufacture in yellow and purple, to 
receive the characters in liquid gold and silver — a mode con- 
tinued by the monks in later days, and of which specimens 
yet exist. 

The Bark of Trees has been much used for writing upon in 
every quarter of the globe, and still serves for this purpose in 
some parts of Asia. In the Sloanian library, London, there 
are several specimens ; one of writing on bark, folded up in 
leaves so as to represent a book ; there is also a Nabob's letter 
on a piece of bark two yards long, richly ornamented in 
gold. 

Leaves have also been used for writing upon in most nations. 
Pliny speaks particularly of the Egyptians writing at first upon 
leaves. The " sybils' leaves " referred to by Virgil, prove that 
the use of leaves for writing upon was familiar to the Ro- 
mans. Diodorus Siculus relates that the judges of Syracuse 
were accustomed to write the names of those whom they sent 
into banishment upon the leaves of olive trees. The practice 
of writing upon the leaves of palm-trees is still prevalent in 
some parts of the East. Specimens are to be seen in the Brit- 
ish Museum. 

In the time of Alexander the Great, the practice of writing 
on Papyrus was found so convenient that Ptolemy Phila- 
delphus caused his books to be transcribed on the plant. 

A book has been curiously defined, " brain preserved in ink," 
and when there is plenty of the fruit, it is a conserve to tempt 
the most capricious palate. From the fact that books were 
written on the bark of trees, came the Latin word liher^ from 
which we derive our English term " library." " Book " is from 
the Saxon, " hoG^ a beech-tree. 



156 BOOK CRAFT. 

Hesiod's works were first written on tables of lead — Solon's 
laws on wooden planks. The wood was sometimes covered 
with wax, so that the writing could be easily effaced. The 
Chinese manufacture paper of linen, the fibres of the young 
bamboo — of the mulberry, the envelope of the silk-worm — 
of a native tree called chu or ko-chu — but especially of cotton. 
They were in possession of the art long before it was known in 
Europe ; and, as Mecca was a sort of depot for the fabrics of 
China, it is by some very reasonably supposed, that the paper 
was first brought from that country. Whatever might have 
been its origin, the art was undoubtedly employed and im- 
proved by the Arabs, who, in their career of conquest, carried 
it into Spain, about the beginning of the tenth century. 
Other accounts ascribe the invention of cotton paper to 
Greece ; indeed, not only its origin, but the various improve- 
ments in its manufacture, and the different substitutions of new 
materials have long been the subject of controversy. 

Cotton and silk paper were in use at an early period, but 
linen rags were not used till a.d. 1200. This invention has 
been placed earlier by some good authorities, but it would 
appear that they have confounded the cotton with the linen 
paper. The first paper-mill in England was built by a Ger- 
man, in 1588, at Dartford, in Kent. Nevertheless, it was not 
until 1713, that Thomas Watkins, a stationer, brought paper- 
making to anything like perfection. 

Between the years 1467 and 1475, printing-offices were opened 
at Cologne, Augsburg, Nuremberg, and Lubec. Monks, called 
" Brothers of Common Life," founded printing establishments 
at Brussels and Louvain, in Belgium, In the year 1467, a 
press was transported to Eome ; some years afterwards, to 
Yenice, Milan, and Naples. The printing art reached Paris 
in 1469. It met with obstacles on the part of copyists, who 



BOOK CRAFT. 157 

feared to lose their means of subsistence ; but the king, Louis 
XI., protected the printers. 

The art was conveyed from Haarlem to England in 1468, and 
by Bourchier, Archbishop of Canterbury. This prelate sent a 
merchant named William Caxton, to learn the art. Caxton pre- 
vailed with Corseilles to go over to Oxford, and there set up 
a press. Before Caxton left the continent, he translated from 
the French, and in the year 1471 published at Cologne, the 
first hook ever jprinted in the English language ; entitled. The 
Recuyell of the Hystoryes of Troye. "An imperfect copy of 
this work," says Duppa, " was put up to sale in 1812, when there 
was a competition amongst men eminent for learning, rank, and 
fortune ; and, according to their estimation of its value, it was 
sold for the sum of £1,060 10s." In the year 1474 (having in 
the meantime returned to England), he published the first hook 
ever jprinted in England. It was entitled, " The Game and 
Playe of the Chesse : Translated out of the Frenche, and em- 
prynted by me William Caxton. Fynysshid the last day of 
Marche, the yer of our Lord God a thousand four hondred, 
Ixxiiij." 

Caxton, who died at the age of 81, in 1491, and who, in ad- 
dition to having had the honor of introducing into England the 
" divine art," was an eminent instance of the successful culti- 
vation of letters, combined with mechanical pursuits. Amidst 
the onerous charge of an extensive printing office in one of the 
chapels of Westminster Abbey, containing twenty-four presses, 
with about a hundred workmen, this indefatigable man actu- 
ally gave to the world, no fewer than five thousand closely 
printed folio pages from his own pen, consisting chiefly of 
translations from the French, or of the stock of his own vernacu- 
lar literature. About sixty of his books still exist. His just 
estimate of Chaucer, whose works he first printed, evinces his 
uncommon critical acumen. On more accounts than one, there- 



158 BOOK CRAFT. 

fore, may Caxton be fitly styled the father of the English press. 
The well-known names of Pynson, who died 1529 ; "VVynkyn de 
Worde, in 1534, and Wyer, in 1542, although justly celebrated 
for the improvements they effected in the typographic art, — the 
former having first constructed and introduced into use the Ro- 
man letters, — claim a passing mention. 

Printing hitherto had been for the most part in Latin ; but 
the Italians in 1480 began to print with Greek and Hebrew 
types, and they were the first to use these. 

In the sixteenth century, according to Dr. Gregory, there 
appeared various editions of books in Syriac, Arabic, Persian, 
Armenian, Coptic or Egyptian, characters. 

Anthony Koburger, of Nuremberg, was a person eminent 
for his learning as well as for his elegance in printing. He 
was styled the Prince of printers, and was likewise a very ex- 
tensive bookseller. Besides a spacious warehouse at Lyons, he 
had agents in every important city in Christendom, and kept 
sixteen open shops, with a vast number of warehouses. He 
printed thirteen editions of the Bible in folio, which are es- 
teemed as extremely beautiful specimens of the art ; but his 
chef-d^oeuvre was the German Bible, printed in 1483, folio, the 
most splendid of all the ancient German Bibles, being embel- 
lished with many curious wood- cuts. 

About tlie year 1547, we find honorable mention made of the 
name of Robert Copland, formerly engaged in Caxton's ofllce ; 
he was a stationer, printer, author, and translator. The " Rose 
Garland," in Fleet street, was his well-known residence. An- 
thony Scoloker was another, who translated several works which 
he printed, one of which, affording no unequivocal proof, how- 
ever, of his prophetic skill, was intituled, " A Juste Reck- 
enyage, or Accompte of the "Whole Number of the Yeares, 
from the Beginnynge of the Worlde unto the present Yeare of 
1547; a Certayne and Sure Declaracion that the "Worlde is at 



BOOK CRAFT. 159 

an ICnde." Robert Stephens, the renowned Parisian printer and 
scholar, was his contemporary; his erudition as a critic and 
etymologist, is sufficiently evinced by his great work, " Diction- 
ariiim sen Latinae LingufB Thesaurus." De Thou, the historian, 
passed the following merited eulogium upon this distinguished 
scholar : " IST ot only France, but the whole Christian world, 
owes more to him than to the greatest warrior that ever ex- 
tended the possessions of his country ; and greater glory has 
redounded to Francis I. by the industry alone of Robert Ste- 
phens, than from all the illustrious, warlike, and pacific under- 
takings in which he was engaged." We next come, in the order 
of time, to the name of John Day, the equally prolific printer 
and parent — having introduced into the world two hundred and 
forty-five books, and twenty-seven children ! He lived in the 
neighborhood of Holborn conduit. 

Richard Grafton, of London, was distinguished alike for his 
erudition, as well as being an eminent printer. He was a lin- 
guist, and also the friend of Cranmer and Lord Cromwell. 
Grafton lived in the house of the Grey Friars, since known as 
Christ's Hospital. 

His first work was the English Bible, printed abroad in 
1535. 

In 1545, he printed King Henry YIII.'s Primer, both in La- 
tin and English, with red and black ink, for which he had a 
patent, that is inserted at the end. 

In the first year of Edward YL, Grafton was favored with a 
special patent, granted to him for the sole printing of all the 
Statute Books. This is the first patent that is noticed by that 
diligent and accurate antiquarian. Sir "William Dugdale. 

An eminent printer was Christopher Plan tin, of Antwerp, 
who lived in the latter part of the sixteenth century. His 
ofiices at Antwerp, Germany, and France seem to have been 
established upon the most magnificent scale, and, like one of his 



ICO BOOK CKAFT. 

great predecessors, Stephens, he indulged himself in the luxury 
of silver types. At one time, he is reported to have paid to 
his proof-readers and compositors, no less than one hundred 
golden crowns jp^r diem, no equivocal evidence of the extent of 
his operations. He also retained, not only in his friendship, 
but in his employ, a host of the literary men of his day, among 
the number the renowned De Thou. His chef-d' oeuvre — which 
has been styled the eighth wonder of the world — was his Bihlia 
Polyglotta, in eight folio volumes. 

Then we have the no less illustrious names of Raphelengius, 
the celebrated scholar, and printer to the University of Ley- 
den ; and Louis Elzevir, of the same place, (temp. 1595-1616,) 
the founder of the most learned family of printers that ever 
adorned the republic of letters. Elzevir is said to have been 
the first who observed the distinction between the use of the 
consonant v, and the vowel ^t, (which had been recommended 
by Ramus and other writers long before, but never regarded,) 
as also the vowel i from the consonant y. Their name is well- 
known to scholars, by their exquisite series of minutely printed 
classics, comprising about one hundred volumes. Aldus Manu- 
tius, with whom terminated a family of printers scarcely less 
distinguished in the literary history of their times, extending 
to upwards of a century, was grandson to the celebrated Aldus. 
His extraordinary precocity was displayed by the successful 
publication, of a production from his own pen, in his eleventh 
year ; and his great work, De Yeterum Notarum Explana 
tione has not only immortalized his name, but has been long 
since acknowledged as a standard for reference, by the learned. 
In the reign of Charles II. we find the name of John Ogilby, 
geographical printer to the Court, and noted as having written 
some books. He published a magnificent Bible, with illustra- 
tions, for which he was remunerated by the British Parliament. 
Towards the close of the seventeenth century, Palliot, the his- 



BOOK CRAFT. 161 

toriographer, printer, and bookseller to the King of France, 
was also highly distinguished as a genealogist. As a proof of 
his untiring perseverance and industry, it is recorded that he 
left, at his decease, thirteen volumes of manuscripts, in addi- 
tion to the five folios, which he had already published, the 
plates of which were likewise executed by his own hands. Con- 
temporary with him, lived Rothscholtz, the bookseller, of Nu- 
remberg, whose name is distinguished in the world of letters by 
his great work, in two volumes quarto, entitled, A Short Essay 
towards an Ancient and Modern History of Booksellers. 

In early times, bookselling and printing were not only often 
combined, but, in some instances, it appears, authorship also 
was united with these several branches of handicraft. 

Numerous instances attest the fact, that an afiinity subsists 
between printing and knowledge, and that printers have them- 
selves contributed, by their genius, to adorn the annals of their 
age. Bayle speaks of one who composed and printed a work 
simultaneously, setting up the types with his hands, as fast as 
his brain concocted his sentences, without the intervention of 
manuscript corrections. 

Lackington, the well-known bookseller, remarks, " Among all 
the schools where a knowledge of mankind may be acquired, I 
know of none equal to that of a bookseller's shop, where, if 
any one have any taste for literature, he may be said to feed 
his mind, as cooks' and butchers' wives get fat by the smell of 
meat." 

It cannot be denied, however, that there are numerous ex- 
ceptions to this supposed rule ; for the instances of eminent 
printers and booksellers we have presented, are from the many 
whose commerce with literature seemed to have awakened little 
or no sympathy with its pleasures, its pains, or its pursuit. 

The remark is not less applicable to our own times. 

In the olden time, prior to the era of printing, the manu- 
11 



162 BOOK CRAFT. 

scripts of authors were obliged to be subjected to the ordeal of 
critical censorship, previous to their being allowed public per- 
usal; their works being required to be read over before the 
Universities, for three successive days, or by appointed judges ; 
when, if approved, copies were allowed to be executed by the 
monks, scribes, and illuminators. 

Even in the classical days of Greece and Rome, we find a 
trade carried on in books ; those works most in demand being 
multiplied by the scribes and copyists. An exclusive traffic in 
the manuscripts of those days seems to have been carried on 
along the shores of the Mediterranean, and the Greek colonies 
of the Euxine. 

During the middle ages, the booksellers were styled Statio- 
narii at the Universities of Paris and Bologna ; they used to 
sell and loan manuscripts. This was the commencement of the 
bookselling business. A species of literary censorship, it ap- 
pears, was first established at Paris, in 1342, when a license 
from the University was requisite previously to engaging in 
such business. The booksellers were, in fact, regularly matri- 
culated by entry on its roll, and considered as its officers ; the 
prices of all books were also fixed according to a tariff of four 
sworn booksellers, by the institution ; a fine was imposed for 
selling an imperfect copy of a work, and a catalogue, with the 
prices annexed, was further required to be always kept in the 
shops. This censorship was afterwards invested in the person 
of Berthold, Archbishop of Mentz, in 1486, and again renewed 
with greater vigor, with respect to books, by the Council of 
Trent, in 1546, being subsequently enforced by the Popes, 
down to 1563, by whom several Indices Librorum Prohihi- 
toruTTh were issued. In France the censorship was vested in 
the Chancellor; in England it was exercised by the well-known 
Star-Chamber ; and after the abolition of that court, by Parlia- 
ment itself ; it was abolished in England about 1694, although 



BOOK CEAFT. 163 

it still continues in force, we believe, in several of the Conti- 
nental States. 

Tlie ji/rst bookseller, so called, on record, was Faustus. He 
is said to have carried his books for sale, to the monasteries in 
France and elsewhere ; and the first bookseller who purchased 
manuscripts for publication, without possessing a press of his 
own, was John Otto, of Nuremberg. 

Among eminent bibliopoles, the next name we find in the 
order of date is that of John Dunton, who lived from 1659- 
1733. Of his literary performances, his Life and Errors is 
the best known. His critical acumen, or good fortune, were 
certainly not much at fault ; for it is recorded, that of the 600 
works which he published, only seven proved unsuccessful. 

Chiswell, styled for pre-eminence the metropolitan bookseller 
of England, and whose shrewdness and wit stood the test so 
admirably, that he is reported never to have issued a bad book, 
was also, at about the same period, an author of some consider- 
ation. Contemporary with him, we find the name of the 
learned linguist and bibliopolist Samuel Smith, the appointed 
bookseller to the Koyal Society. Thomas Guy, — the founder 
of " Guy's Hospital " — (whose munificence and philanthropy 
have immortalized his name, and often invoked the blessing of 
suffering humanity,) was originally, it will be remembered, a 
bookseller. 

John Bagford, an industrious antiquarian bookseller, who 
lived to the early part of the eighteenth century, was the au- 
thor of the Collectanea^ bearing his name, contained in the 
Harleian MSS. of the British Museum. 

The Tonsons were a race of booksellers who did honor to 
their profession for integrity, and by their encouragement of 
learning. Malone published several letters from Dryden to 
Tonson, and Tonson to Dryden. Tonson displays the trades- 
man, however, acknowledging the receipt of the Translations 



164 BOOK CRAFT. 

of Ovid, which he had received, with which he was pleased, 
but not with the price, having only one thousand four hundred 
and forty-six lines for fifty guineas. Most of the other letters 
relate to Dryden's translations of Yirgil ; and contain re- 
peated acknowledgments of Tonson's kind attentions. "I 
thank you heartily," he says, " for the sherry ; it is the best of 
the kind I ever drank." The current coin was at that period 
wretchedly debased. In one letter Dryden says, " I expect 
forty pounds in good silver, not such as I had formerly. I am 
not obliged to take gold, neither will I, nor stay for it above 
four and twenty hours after it is due." In 1698, when Dryden 
published his Fables, Tonson agreed to give him two hundred 
and sixty-eight pounds for ten thousand verses ; and to com- 
plete the full number of lines stipulated, he gave the bookseller 
the Epistle to his Cousin, and the celebrated Ode. 

Lintot, Pope's publisher, was also an author ; not to speak 
of Miller, Evans, Griersson, Motte, and Kuddiman, the last- 
named a man of profound attainments as a grammarian and 
critic. The name of Kichardson, author of " Sir Charles 
Grandison," and other popular works, which have ]3rocured for 
him the title of the English Rousseau, is well known. Alex- 
ander Cruden, the compiler of the " Concordance to the Sacred 
Scriptures," whose stupendous labors turned him mad, was an- 
other of our category. 

John Buckley, who lived to about 1746, was a learned lin- 
guist ; and Paterson, his contemporary, was also author of 
many works, as well as a book-auctioneer ; he was indeed one 
of the most prominent bibliopoles of his age. 

About the same date, we meet with the name of Harris, the 
author of Lexicon Technicum. Dr. Rees' Cyclojmdia, which 
extended to forty volumes, quarto, was styled " the pride of 
booksellers, and the honor of the English nation." 



BOOK CRAFT. 165 

Hutton, of Birmingham, who has been not inaptly styled the 
English Franklin, from the very depths of obscurity and 
poverty fought his way single-handed to wealth and literary 
eminence. His " History of Birmingham " was followed by 
other productions, including his interesting autobiography. 
His literary labors were concluded in 1811. In his last book, 
he says : " I drove the quill thirty years, during which time I 
wrote and published fourteen books." 

We might refer to the names of Rush ton, of Liverpool, 
M'Creery, Debrett, Allan Ramsay the poet, Hansard, Bulmer, 
Boydell, Griffiths, Harrison, and many others we stay not to 
enumerate. Worrall, of Bell Yard, who died 1771, was a 
well-known author-bookseller, as well as the eccentric Andrew 
Brice, of Exeter, and Sir James Hodges, who lived at the sign 
of the Looking-Glass, on London Bridge. The names should 
not be omitted of Faulkner, Gent, Goadby, and also Smellie, 
the first edition of whose work on philosophy yielded him 
one thousand guineas, and a revenue of fame. Thomas Os- 
borne, of Gray's Inn, was also a very eminent bookseller, 
although, if we are to decide with Dr. Dibdin, not eminent in 
philological attainments. Boswell relates an amusing circum- 
stance connected with the professional career of this worthy 
bibliopole, who, it is said, was inclined to assume an authorita- 
tive air in his business intercourse. One day, Johnson happen- 
ing to encounter a similar exhibition of temper, the Doctor 
became so exasperated, that he actually knocked Osborne down 
in his shop with a folio, and put his foot upon his neck ; and 
when remonstrated with on such summary proceeding, he 
coolly replied, " Sir, he was impertinent to me, and I beat 
him." 

Paternoster Row, the great literary emporium of the world, 
did not assume any importance till the reign of Queen Anne, 
when the booksellers began to forsake their former principal 



166 BOOK CRAFT. 

mart, Little Britain,* which had become the resort of all the 
bibliopoles about the time of the renowned John Day, termi- 
nating with the equally celebrated Ballard. In earlier times 
Paternoster Row seems to have been more noted for mercers^ 
lacemen, and haberdashers, for a newspaper periodical of 1707, 
adds to the list, "the sempstresses of Paternoster Row." We 
find, however, the record of a solitary member of the craft, 
one Denham, who lived then and there, at the sign of the 
Star, as early as 1564, and whose significant motto ran as fol- 
lows : 

" Os homini sublime dedit." 

There also dwelt turners of beads, and they were called Pater- 
noster makers, from which, of course, this noted place origin- 
ally derived its name. It is also worthy of notice, that the 
parish of St. Bride has been, from the days of Pynson, in 1500, 
down to the days of Strahan, the location of the " King's 
Printer ; " while the number of those carrying on the profes- 
sion in this vicinity is singularly numerous, and far beyond 
the average of any other parish in England, or perhaps the 
world ; the site seems to have become, from its first intro- 
duction, the Alma Mater of the printers. Alex. Hogg was 
moreover reputed a man of considerable learning. He pub- 
lished numerous standard works in the serial form, and 
was the first to introduce that convenient, and, for the spread 
of literature, important mode of publication. He seems 
to have exhausted the vocabularies of superlatives, to ex- 
press the beauty, elegance, and magnificence of his editions. 

* Formerly Breton street, from the mansion of the Duke of Bretagne on. 
that spot, in more modem times became the ' ' Paternoster Row " of the 
bookseller; and a newspaper of 1664 states them to have published here with- 
in four years, 464 pamphlets. Here lived Rawlinson (" Tom Folio" of The 
Tatler, No. 158), who stuffed four chambers in Gray's Inn so fuU, that his- 
bed was removed into the passage. 



BOOK CRAFT. 167 

He also was reputed to possess singular tact in revivifying a 
dull book by rechristening it, and otherwise metamorphosing 
its contents, when its sale, under its original condition, had 
ceased ; hence he has been called, the " prince of puffers." 

Among our notices of eminent bibliopolists we must not 
omit the name of Andrew Millar, or the laconic missives that 
passed between him and Dr. Johnson — although the incident 
may be already familiar to the reader. 

The great lexicographer having wearied the expectation of 
the trade for his long-promised work, and no less the patience 
of his publisher, who had already advanced him, in various 
sums, the amount of £1,500, he was induced, on receipt of the 
concluding sheet of his Dictionary, to send to the doctor the 
following : " A. Millar sends his compliments to Mr. Samuel 
Johnson, with money for the last sheet of copy of Dictionary, 
and thanks God he has done with him." To which our author 
replied, " Samuel Johnson returns compliments to Mr. Andrew 
Millar, and is very glad to find (as he does by his note), that 
Mr. A. M. has the grace to thank God for anything." 

Honorable mention also should be made of a name which 
has never, perhaps, been eclipsed in the annals of book craft. 
We refer to that of Nicholls, whose " Literary Anecdotes," as 
well as his numerous other works, will link his memory to 
many a distant year, and whose otherwise immense industry 
and labors, as printer, compiler, and publisher, would scarce 
require the aid of " Sylvanus Urban " to immortalize his 
name. The mantle of the sire has descended upon the son, 
who has published several historical works, and among others, 
an " Account of the Guildhall, London," historical notices of 
" Fonthill Abbey," etc. Sotheby, the celebrated book- 
auctioneer of London, whose establishment, originally founded 
in 17M, was one of the earliest of its class in London. He 
was a man of extensive learning and literary acquirements, 



168 BOOK CRATT. 

and had been many years occupied in collecting materials for 
an elaborate work on the " Early History of Printing." 

Davy, of Devonshire, once a bookseller of eminence, was 
afterwards distino-uished for his attainments in biblical litera- 
ture. John Gough, of Dublin, bookseller, was also author of 
" A Tour in Ireland," " History of Quakers," and other works. 
William Harrod was a worthy, but eccentric bookseller, whose 
pen produced several topographical works. Samuel Rosseau, 
who, when an apprentice to Nicholls, used to collect old epitaphs, 
it is said actually taught himself in the intervals of business, 
Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Syriac, Persian, and Arabic, as well as 
two or three of the modern languages. Besides this, he edited, 
in after life, several useful and popular works on elementary 
education. To name Dodsley, would prove almost his suffi- 
cient eulogy ; his valuable series of "Annual Registers," and 
collected edition of " Old Plays," being literary performances 
sufficient to form a monument to his memory. Nicholson, of 
Worcester, is another member of the bookselling fraternity, 
who has added to the ^ores of literature. Constable, the cele- 
brated publisher of Edinburgh, whose literary taste and great 
bibliographical knowledge, independently of his having been 
the originator of the Edinhwrgh Review sufficiently entitles 
him to notice. Ballantyue, the publisher and confidant of Sir 
Walter Scott, who was the sprightly author of the " Widow's 
Lodgings," and other works in the department of elegant lite- 
rature, in addition to his vast fund of anecdote, is equally enti- 
tled to distinction ; as well as Blackwood, for many years the 
editor of the inimitable periodical that still retains his name. 
James I-ackington — the well-known London bookseller — may 
be said to have established his claim to our notice from the 
publication of his " Autobiography." From the shades of ob- 
scurity, he was indebted to thriftiness and parsimony, no less 
than to his untiring zeal and exertions, for his ultimate distinc- 



BOOK CRAFT. 169 

tion. If we may not assign to his character any literary 
eminence, and we do not, his career, at least, was marked by 
singular eccentricity ; his spacious establishment in Finsbury 
Square, around which it is said that he actually drove a coach- 
and-four, contained an immense collection of books. Amons" 
his many expedients to excite notoriety, was the publication of 
an advertisement, stating that his coach-house in Old street had 
been robbed of 10,000 volumes, consisting chiefly of Dr. Watts' 
*' Psalms and Hymns," a manoeuvre that answered the two- 
fold purpose of letting the world know that he kept a coach, 
and that even so large a quantity of books could scarce be 
missed from his collection. He also had the vanity to hoist a 
flag at the top of his house as a signal, whenever he arrived 
from his country seat at Merton. 

His vanity was certainly very amusing, and excusable when 
we consider the disadvantages of his humble origin. At ten 
years old he commenced crying apple-pies in the streets, so 
that, as he himself intimates, he soon began to make a noise in 
the world. His success in this, his fii'st essay, induced speedily 
the exchange of tarts for books ; thus he commenced his busi- 
ness as a bookseller, which one year yielded him a profit of 
£5,000. Here we might mention the name of John Trusler, 
who was distinguished as a doctor, parson, printer, and author ; 
having fabricated many useful books, and amongst others, an 
'' Essay on the Rights of Literary Property " — a subject, even 
at the present day, we regret to find, so very imperfectly un- 
derstood among the mass of those to whose enjoyment it is 
made to yield so large a contribution. Davies, in 1817, com- 
piled and published several amusing bibliographic works, one 
entitled, An Olio of Biblio(/raphical and Literary Anecdote 
and A Life of Garrick, which went through several editions. 
Richard Beatniffe, bookseller, of Norwich, wrote a Tour 
through Norfolk^ and other works. Parkhurst (Johnson's 



170 BOOK CRAFT. 

friend) was of distinguished repute, and occupied many years 
in preparing a Talmudic Lexicon ! Upham, of Exeter, also 
translated sacred books of the Buddhists. Dr. William Rus- 
sell, who died at the close of the last century, the well-known 
author of the History of Modern Eurojpe^ was originally ap- 
prenticed to a bookseller ; a few years after which, he was 
engaged as a corrector of the press, and subsequently was 
enabled to devote himself to authorship. His historical works 
were the product of his maturer years. Whiston, the transla- 
tor of Josephus, was also in his early days a bookseller. The 
same mio-ht be remarked of the renowned naturalist, Smellie, 
equally celebrated as having produced the best edition of 
Terence. He was, moreover, the antagonist of Hume, the 
refutation of whose atheistical opinions became the theme of 
his pen. Walwyn was a bard-bookseller of eminence, " a worthy 
associate of Dryden." Watton, who kept a shop near St. Dun- 
stan's many years, published and compiled several excellent 
works — among them the earliest history we possess of Baronets, 
occupying five octavo- volumes. Olinthus Gregory also was 
once a bookseller, at Cambridge, and a teacher of mathematics 
at the same time, as well as an author. 

John Lander, brother of the African traveller, was originally 
a bookseller. Devoting his leisure to literary pursuits, and his 
mind being inspired with a love of enterprise, he not only ren- 
dered important services to physical science, by the discovery 
of a problem which had long baffled the literati of Europe, and 
which has placed his name among the proudest in the annals 
of science, but he bequeathed to the world one of the most 
interesting narratives of travel in the English language. Sir 
Richard Phillips, of whose elementary writings it is enough 
comraendatiou to remark, that they were sufficiently productive 
to become the adequate support of his declining years, was not 
only the first publisher to introduce a reduction in the price of 



BOOK CRAFT. 171 

books, but the originator of a fund for oppressed debtors — 
both things speak well for him. In the same category was 
Booth, of London, whose knowledge of books, critical, not 
titulary, rendered him eminently distinguished ; his collection 
was exceedingly rare and extensive. His literary capabilities 
were so far respected by Malone, the commentator of Shak- 
speare, that he consigned to him the onerous task of editing 
and arranging the annotations and remarks for his edition of 
the great dramatist. He also edited and compiled several doc- 
uments for his AcGouni of the Battle of Waterloo^ two 
volumes quarto, which passed through nine editions in less 
than two years. 

The race of author-booksellers, far from being extinct, is 
yet flourishing at the present day ; not a few of those who are 
emulous of the classic honors of their sires, add a new lustre 
to the bibliographic history of the nineteenth century. Wil- 
liam Longman has distinguished himself in the science of en- 
tomology, a subject that has already successfully engaged his 
pen. "Wood, the natural history bookseller, is undoubtedly 
deserving a place among the scientific writers of the day, 
which his esteemed work, Zoography^ or the Beauties of 
Nature Displayed, in three large volumes, sufficiently attests. 

Moxon, in early life, published Christmas, a poem, and a 
volume of Sonnets, which were so favorably noticed by Kogers, 
the poet, that a friendship ensued, which since ripened with its 
growth, and contributed very materially to the success of this 
enterprising and accomplished publisher for the poets. To the 
classical reader we need only mention the name of Yalpy, 
whose edition of the Variorum Classics extended to 161 
vols., 8vo., to prove his cultivated taste and liberality of enter- 
prise. M'Cray has translated and published some beautiful 
Lyrics from the German ; William Clarke, originally a book- 
seller, gave to the antiquary an exceedingly curious and 



172 BOOK CRAFT. 

interesting account of libraries, under tlie name of Rejper 
toriurro Bihliograjphicwm ; and Rodd was the translator 
of several volumes from the Spanish. One of the best 
bibliographers was Evans, the auctioneer and bookseller of 
Pall-Mail ; Dolby, bookseller, gave to the public a work of 
ingenuity and labor, The Shakspearian Dictionary ,• and 
Christie, the auctioneer, has also produced four abstruse works, 
on the taste and literature of the ancient Greeks, which he 
compiled during the intervals of his business occupation ; 
Griffith, the bookseller, compiled a catalogue of ancient and 
modern poetry, entitled Bibliographia Anglo- Poetica y and 
Dr. Roller and Mr. Bach were both translators and German 
critics, as well as booksellers. Another conspicuous member 
of the class was Cochrane, who was for some time an eminent 
bookseller, and the able and discriminating editor of the 
Foreign Quarterly Review^ for seven years. He was also 
selected by the trustees to draw up the catalogue of Sir "Walter 
Scott's choice and valuable library at Abbotsford — a most 
delightful labor of love ; and on the formation of the London 
Library, was, among a host of competitors, unanimously elected 
to the offices of librarian and secretary. 

"We might also mention Stewart, the eminent linguist, and 
linown as the skilful compiler of the celebrated catalogue of 
Miss Currer's library, which he embellished by drawings from 
his own pencil. 

If anyone is sceptical enough, after what has been adduced 
to the contrary, to assert that the book-selling and printing- 
business has been wanting in literary distinction, we pity his 
want of candor, while we further refer him to such names as 
the following : Arrowsmith, the celebrated map-publisher, and 
aathor of Ancient and Modern Geography^ as well as several 
elementary works in geography, some of which, with the 
former, were used as text-books at Oxford, Cambridge, and 



BOOK CRAFT. 173 

Eton ; Atkinson, of Glasgow, possessed, perhaps, as great an 
acquaintance with Medical Bibliograjphy as any person of his 
times, as his curious and unique work on that subject proves. 
One of the leading medical journals of Europe characterized it 
as " one of the most remarkable books ever seen — uniting the 
German research of a Ploquet with the ravings of a Rabelais, 
the humor of Sterne with the satire of Democritus, tlie learnino- 
of Burton with the wit of Pindar." It is to be regretted 
the ingenious author did not live to complete the whole de- 
sign, 

Ainsworth, the popular historical novelist, was originally a 
bookseller, Godwin, author of Caleb Williams^ St. Leon, 
etc., was once a bookseller ; Rodd, who kept an extensive 
establishment for the sale of old books, translated the Span- 
ish Ballads. His shop was the resort of confirmed biblio- 
maniacs. 

Nor should the name of John Murray — the friend and pub- 
lisher of Byron, be omitted in this place. It is not our prov- 
ince to remark on the distinguished eminence of this gentle- 
man as a publisher, although in this respect he may unques- 
tionably be entitled to take the highest rank ; but his well- 
known literary abilities, and critical taste, equally render him 
conspicuous, as evinced ia the immense collectioa of valuable 
works which have issued from his establishment. The excel- 
lent series of Hand-Boohs, are in part, productions of his son, 
the present publisher of that name. 

The name of Talboys, of Oxford, will be remembered by 
his admirable translation of Adelung's Historical Sketch of 
Sanscrit Literature, to which he appended copious biblio- 
graphical notices. He was, moreover, the translator of the 
very erudite volumes of Professor Heeren, of which he is also 
the publisher ; his Bihliotheca Classica and Theologica, like- 



L74: BOOK CRAFT. 

wise deserve honorable mention for their completeness and 
excellent scientific arrangement. 

Hansard, the printer, who wrote Typographia, and another 
similar work, and who has been also a contributor to the En- 
cydojpedia Britannica, also was of the fraternity ; as well as 
West, the author of Fifty Years' Recollections of a Book- 
seller ; Goodhugh, author of the Library Manual ; Haas, who 
translated Dr. Krummacher's Blisha^ and Zschokke's History 
of Switzerland. 

John Eussell Smith has rendered himself distinguished by his 
industry, as well as literary taste. His work, Bihliotheca Can- 
tiana, as well as his Bibliographical List of all Works illus- 
trating the Dialects of England, evince both his untiring 
antiquarian research and literary zeal. We come next to a name 
that has become almost a synonym with antiquarian anecdote — 
William Hone, the author of Every Bay Booh, and Year 
Booh. He was originally a bookseller — his collected works 
would probably fill ten or twelve octavos. His political satires 
had a prodigious sale. His infidel publications he lived to re- 
pudiate and publicly to recant, in a work entitled his Early 
Life and Conversion. Henry G. Bohn deserves to be classed 
among our author-booksellers ; his catalogue, containing a criti- 
cal description of 300,000 volumes, in all the languages dear to 
literature, may be ranked among the most laborious productions 
of the press of any nation. The Chambers of Edinburgh, 
editors of the able and valuable works that bear their name, 
present another noble instance of genius rising superior to 
all opposing circumstances. They were originally of humble 
origin — now they are, perhaps, the largest publishers of the 
age. Their essays are among the choicest of our periodical lit- 
erature. There is still another name we cannot, in justice, 
omit to notice : we allude to that of Timperley, whose Ency- 



BOOK CRAFT. 175 

clojpaedia of Literary Anecdote discovers curious labor and re- 
search : and to which we acknowledge our indebtedness for 
many curious facts. 

Charles Knight, the well-known editor of the Pictorial 
ShaJcesj^eare, of London Illustrated, and other excellent works ; 
Thomas Miller, once the basket-maker, since poet, novelist, 
and essayist ; and "William Howitt, whose voluminous writings 
are too well known to require recital — form a triple coronal in 
bibliography ; and the lustre they shed upon the brotherhood 
of booksellers to which they originally belonged, may well 
atone for the obliquities, discrepancies, and obtuseness, with 
which the tongue of scandal has sought to darken the fair 
escutcheon of its fame. 

Here, then, we ought to pause in our enumeration of literary 
booksellers and printers ; although the catalogue might be 
extended to a much greater length. There are three other 
names, however, we must not omit, in conclusion. 

In earlier times, Francis de Bure, a bookseller of Paris, 
wrote, among others, a work of great research and skill, A 
Treatise on Scarce and Curious Books, in seven large vol- 
umes. The originator of the great work, Encyclojpedie Metho- 
dique, which has extended to above 150 volumes, was M. 
Panckoucke, a Parisian bookseller. Peter Yander, of Leyden, 
who died 1730, was another eminent instance of an author- 
bookseller, as his singular work, Galerie du Monde, in QQ 
folios, sufficiently attests ; and Lascaile, of Holland, was 
poet and publisher ; and even his daughter so largely inher- 
ited her father's genius, that she was styled the Dutch Sappho, 
or tenth muse. 

The renowned publisher, Tauchnitz, of Leipsic, achieves a 
great work for the diffusion of literature over continental 
Europe. His popular series of British Classics alone includes 



176 BOOK CRAFT. 

1,000 volumes. His publishing establishment is now the largest 
on the continent of Europe. 

In the sixteenth century, Trithemius died in Germany, after 
having, from time to time, assembled the literary world to 
behold the wonder of that age — a library of two thousand 
volumes. 

The first book ever printed in the New World was in the city 
of Mexico. It was printed in the Spanish language, in the 
year 1544, and was entitled Doctrina Cfiristiana jper eo los 
Indes. The first publications made in English, in America, 
were the FreemarCs Oath, an Almanac for 1639. In 1640 was 
published the first book, entitled the Bay Psahn Book. It was 
reprinted in England, where it passed through no less than 
eighteen editions ; the last being issued in 1754. It was no 
less popular in Scotland, twenty-two editions of it having been 
published there. 

We might mention, among the craft, and with no slight 
honor, the name of John Foster, a man of great literary attain- 
ments, a graduate at Harvard University, and liimself an au- 
thor. At a later date Matthew Carey, and his son and succes- 
sor, Henry Carey, both of whom have recorded their names in 
the literary annals of their country, not to omit the name of an 
author-bookseller, Peter Parley (Goodrich), whose works are 
alike appreciated in both hemispheres. 

Isaiah Thomas has written and published a History of Print- 
ing, a work of considerable reputation ; Drake, the antiquarian 
bookseller of Boston, besides being a member of several learned 
societies, was author of the Booh of the Indians and History 
of Boston. 

The first printing press set up in America, was " worked " 
at Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1639. 

The Eev. Jesse Glover procured this press, by " contributions 



BOOK CRAFT. 177 

of friends of learning and religion," in Amsterdam and in Eng- 
land, but died on his passage to the New World. 

Stephen Day was the first printer. In honor of his pioneer 
services Government gave him a grant of three hmidred acres 
of land. Among his other publications were the New Testa- 
ment and Baxter's Call, translated into the Indian language, 
by Elliot, the pioneer Missionary, and printed at great cost. 
The title might be recommended, on account of its obscurity 
and high-sounding character, to some of our transcendental 
writers. It was Wusku- Wuttesthementum ITul-Lordumun 
Jesus Christ Ntbjppoqjiwussuaenenrriurhy' 

The whole Bible was printed in this language in 1663. The 
nation once speaking it, is now extinct. 

Pennsylvania was the second State to encourage printing. 
William Bradford went to Pennsylvania, with William Penn, in 
1682, and ill 1686 established a printing-press in Philadelphia. 

In 1692, Bradford was induced to establish a printing-press 
in New York. He received £40 per annum, and " the privi- 
lege of printing on his own account." Previous to this time 
there had been no printing done in the Province of New York. 
His first issue in New York was a proclamation, bearing date 
of 1692. 

Pope satirized some of his publishers and defamed others. 

* One long word suggests another — the title of a pamphlet (in the possession 
of the writer), published years ago in London. The title reads : " Chronon- 
TiotontTwlogos, the most tragical tragedy that ever was tragedized by any com- 
pany of tragedians. " The two first lines of this effusion read — 

" Aldeborontiphoscophosnio 1 
Where left you Chrononhotonthologos ? " 

We might name another singular title of a work published in 1661, by Ro- 
bert LoveU, entitled, '■'■ Panzoologicomineralogia ; a complete history of flnimala 
and minerals, contain^ the summe of all authors, Galenical and ChymicaU, 
with the anatomie of man, &c." 
12 



178 BOOK CRAFT. 

Johnson knocked one down with a folio. In more lecent times 
Campbell, when called upon for a toast at a literary dinner, 
o-ave the health of Napoleon because he had shot a bookseller. 
One of the wittiest stanzas in Coleridge's DeviVs Walk is that 
in which the Devil claims kin with a publisher : 

" For I myself sat like a cormorant once 
Upon the tree of knowledge." 

And it was a modern author who made the parable of the 
Good Samaritan run, " A certain man went down to Paternos- 
ter Row, and fell among thieves." 

Next to the desire to know something about the j>ersonnel oi 
an author, is the interest with which the public regard that in- 
termediate personage between him and themselves, yclept the 
publisher. In a subordinate sense, he may justly be considered 
a member of the literary profession, for he enacts the part of 
agent for the author and his readers ; and if not an indispen- 
sable, he is at least a most important auxiliary in these relations. 
Publishers have, however, not unfrequently been characterized 
as selfish in their pursuits, and alike injurious to the interest of 
the author, and the commonwealth of literature. This asper- 
sion upon their fair fame is at length fast passing away, if in- 
deed it has not already disappeared. Their position in society, 
as the purveyors of its literary aliment, is at length appreci- 
ated. The bookselling fraternity are a set of men, whose 
movements are for the most part regulated by the question of 
profit and loss. They deal in books very much as do the pur- 
veyors of meat and bread, — estimating their mercantile value 
by the size, if not the weight avoirdupois. The history of 
" book craft," which yet remains to be written, would form a 
book of " Chronicles," if less important, scarcely less interest- 
ing than those of Froissart ; it would abound with strange an- 
omalies, and curious portraitures. In early times, the monks 



BOOK CRAFT. 179 

— the Gustodes of the learning of their day — combined within 
themselves both antlior and pnblisher ; if indeed the latter 
term may be allowed in this case. They were styled the Co7n- 
mercium Librorxnn^ their office comprehending that of the 
scribe, as well as the dealer in manuscripts. Between the years 
14Y4 and 1600, it has been estimated abont 350 printers flour- 
ished in England and Scotland alone, and that the products of 
their several presses amounted in the aggregate to 10,000 dis- 
tinct productions. * 

To attempt any computation of their numbers, subsequently, 
would defy our arithmetical powers. 

But for booksellers, intellect would die of famine. London 
is the great Sanhedrim of the author-craft of the world. Lon- 
don is the very brain of Britain, the centre of its literature, 
the seat of its intelligence. There is the great emporium of 
booksellers, that time-honored, and worthy order. Paternos- 
ter Row has an aroma of paper and print. There is no spot on 
the globe like it. The London book-trade is divided into the 
following branches — the general retail bookseller, the dealer in 
black letter, or second-hand books, the wholesale merchant, who 
executes country and foreign orders, and the publishing, or 
manufacturing bookseller. The second class formerly did 
chiefly congregate in Little Britain — now they are scattered 
about Holborn, Covent Garden, and the Strand. These are 
depositories of those choice relics of the olden time, that often 
tempt such premiums from the bibliomaniac. 

"While on this point, we cannot refrain from a recollection or 

* D'lsraeli, in Ms XJuriosities of Idterature, states, that the four ages of 
typogi'aphy have produced no less than 3,641,960 works ! Taking each work 
at three volumes, and reckoning' each impression to consist of only 300 copies 
(a very moderate supposition), the actual amount of volumes which have 
issued from the presses of Europe, down to the year 1816, appears to be 
3,277,640,000 ! 



180 BOOK CEAFT. 

two of the brotherhood. One was named Nunn ; he kept an 
old book establishment in Great Queen street, and although a 
singularly large and corpulent personage, was scarcely less re- 
markable for his activity in early life, than for his austerity and 
moroseness in its later stages. By his parsimony and patient, 
application to business, he became ultimately possessed of con- 
siderable wealth ; and although this was no secret, yet his two 
daughters, who were (if one may hazard gallantry for truth) 
remarkably ugly, lived in single blessedness to the very autumn 
of life; but, strange to add, immediately after the demise of 
their venerable parenA at the advanced age of eight}'^, they each 
entered into matrimonial alliances. Old E'unn possessed many 
peculiarities, and although not particularly remarkable for in- 
dulging any " sudorous brain-toils " of his o^vn, he jet never 
appeared so contented, as when immured among his musty 
tomes. We well remember, his curious custom of crammiiig^ 
his capacious coat-pockets, which, on one occasion, actually 
yielded f our-and-twenty octavo volumes. D'Arcy, also a dealer 
in second-hand and black-letter books^ in Holborn, rendered 
himself conspicuous, among other eccentricities, for the whim 
of having women in his establishment, some of whom were de- 
cidedly pretty ; and what is not less singular, it is said, he regu- 
lated their remuneration according to the ratio of their personal 
attractions. He died wealthy, like his eccentric contemporary 
just alluded to. 

The wholesale trade has always resided in and near Pater- 
noster Row ; but the chief house of this class was for many 
years on London Bridge. Osborne lived under the gateway 
of Gray's Inn. Tonson opposite the Strand Bridge. Millar, 
facing St. Clement's Church. Dodsley, on the site of the 
Shakspeare Gallery, in Pall Mall. 

Publishers are said to keep the keys of the Temple of Fame, 
They minister at the altar of learning, and furnish the intel- 



BOOK CRAFT. 181 

lectual wealth of the world. Dr. Johnson considered booksel- 
lers the patrons of literature, liberal, generous-minded men. 
Another quaintly asks, " Can a bookseller live, move, and have 
his being, in an atmosphere of intellect, and not absorb the 
very soul and spirit of his books through his pores?" An 
experienced bookseller is often better qualified to judge of a 
book than all the critics that ever praised or blamed since the 
days of Diogenes. Comparatively few, however, of the pub- 
lishing fraternity pretend to critical censorship ; they usually 
■defer to the critical judgment of some literary friend, in deter- 
mining the claims of any work for publiG;ation. 

In the United States the Press is represented by the illus- 
trious Franklin, the Bacon of the New World — a triajuncta 
ill una, printer, author, and philosopher; and who has been 
thus teGhnioally described by one of the fraternity : " The * of 
his profession, the type of honesty, the ! of all ; and although 
the ^^^ of death has put a . to his existence, every § of his 
life is without a | ." 

Types have been likened to 

"A thousand lamps at one lone altar lighted, 
Turning the night of error into day." 

Type-setting in early times was not remarkable for its exact- 
ness and accuracy. In the year 1561, a book was printed, 
called the Anatomy of the Mass. It had only 172 pages in it ; 
but the author — a pious monk — was obliged to add fifteen 
pages to correct the blunders ! These he attributes to the 
special instigation of the devil, to defeat the work ; and hence 
may have come the use of the phrase. Printer's Devil. 

A printer's wife in Germany came to grief, by feloniously 
meddling with the types. She went into the ofiice by night, 
and took out the word "lord," in Genesis iii. 16, where Eve is 
made subject to her husband, and mado the verse read, " he 



182 BOOK CRAFT. 

eliall be thy fool," instead of " lie shall be thy lord." Tradition 
adds that she was put to death for her wickedness. Some 
printers of early editions of the Scriptures were so heavily 
fined as to be utterly ruined, for leaving out the word " not " 
from one of the Ten Commandments. There is an edition of 
the Bible, called the " Vinegar Bible," from the parable of the 
" Yineyard " being printed " vinegar." 

Among the literary curiosities in a library at Southampton, 
England, is an old Bible, known as the " Bug Bible," printed 
by John Daye, 1551, with prologue by Tyndall. It derives its 
name from the peculiar rendering of the fifth verse in Psalm 
91, which reads thus : "So that thou shalt not need to be afraid 
for any bugs by night." 

Bookbinding is an art of great antiquity. It is two thou- 
sand years and more, since Phillatius, a Greek, divided the 
rolled volume into sheets, and glued these together in the form 
which is familiar to us. The rolls had been preserved from 
dust and injury by being kept in cylindrical cases ; and a pro- 
tection for the book, in its new shape, was soon found to be 
more necessary than before. This was supplied by securing 
the leaves between stiff covers, probably of wood at first, and 
thus began the modern art of bookbinding. 

Soon the board was covered with leather, making in exter- 
nal appearance a still nearer approach to the workmanship of 
our day ; but it was not until the close of the fifteenth century, 
that the mill-board, which unites lightness with sufiicient 
strength, was used as the foundation of the book-cover. 

When the sheet of paper of which a book is made is folded 
in two leaves, the book is called a folio ; when into four leaves, 
it is called quarto ; when folded into eight leaves, it is called 
octavo ; when into twelve leaves, duodecimo, etc. 

The ancient Romans ornamented the covers of their books 
very elaborately. Those of wood were carved ; and upon some 



BOOK CRAFT. 183 

of these scenes from plays, and events of public interest were 
represented. About the commencement of the Christian era 
leather of brilliant hues, decorated with gold and silver, had 
come into use. In the Middle Ages the monks exhausted 
their ingenuity, and frequently, it would seem, their purses, in 
adorning the covers of those manuscripts, upon which they 
spent their lives in writing and illuminating. Single figm-es and 
groups, wrought in solid gold, silver, with enamel, precious 
stones and pearls, made the outside of the volume correspond 
to the splendor within. Less expensive works were often 
bound in oaken boards very richly carved. 

Kings and wealthy nobles expended much money upon 
the binding of their libraries. Carved ivory covers, protected 
by golden corners, and secured by jewelled clasps, were not 
uncommon, as well as those of velvet, silk brocade, vel- 
lum, and morocco, elaborately ornamented, after designs 
made by great artists, and protected with bosses, corners, 
and clasps of solid gold. The precious stones and metals 
upon these book-covers cost us the loss of many a more 
precious volume, for they frequently formed no inconsider- 
able part of the plunder of a wealthy mansion, in a cap- 
tured city. Dibdin tells us of one library of thirty thousand 
volumes — that of Corvinus, King of Hungary — which was de- 
stroyed on this account by the Turkish soldiers, when Buda 
was taken, in 1526, 

Quite an era in the history of bookbinding in England was 
formed by the publication of the Great Bible, by Grafton, in 
1539. In the reign of Henry YIII. the use of gold tooling 
was introduced, and the designs for some of the rolls are at- 
tributed to Holbein. Queen Elizabeth herself embroidered 
velvet and silk book-covers. The art had been carried to a 
high degree of excellence and finish in France. Many have 
acquired great renown there, in this department of handicraft 



184 BOOK CRAFT. 

A word touching titles: "The titles of books," writes the 
author of the Tin Trumpet, "are decoys to catch pur- 
chasers." There can be no doubt that a happy name to a book 
is like an agreeable appearance to a man ; but if, in either 
case, the final do not answer to the first impression, will not 
our disappointment add to the severity of our judgment? 
"Let me succeed with my first impression," the bibliopolist will 
cry, " and I ask no more." The public are welcome to end 
with condemning, if they will only begin with buying. Most 
readers, like the tuft-hunters at college, are caught by titles. 
How inconsistent are our notions of morality ! Ko man of 
honor would open a letter that was not addressed to him, 
though he will not scruple to open a book under the same cir- 
cumstances. Colton's Laoon has gone through many editions, 
and yet it is addressed " To those who think." Had the author 
substituted for these words, " Those who think they are think- 
incf," it might not have had so extensive a sale, although it 
would have been directed to a much larger class. He has 
shown address in his address. 

Scott is known to have profited much by Constable's biblio- 
graphical knowledge, which was very extensive. The latter 
christened Kenilworth, which Scott named Cumnor Sail. 
John Ballantyne objected to the former title, and told Con- 
stable the result would be " something worthy of the kennel ; " 
but the result proved the reverse. Mr, Cadell relates that 
Constable's vanity boiled over so much at this time, on having 
his suggestions adopted, that, in his high moods, he used to 
stalk up and down his room, and exclaim, " By Jove, I am all 
but the author of the Waverley Novels ! " 

In Butler's Remains it is remarked, that "there is a kind of 
physiognomy in the titles of books, no less than in the faces of 
men, by which a skilful obsei-ver will as well know what to 
expect from the one as the other." 



BOOK CRAFT. 185 

Generally speaking, this is correct. But the optician who 
should happen to purchase a book entitled, A New Invention, 
or a Paire of Cristall Spectacles, hy helpe whereof may he 
read so small a print, that what twenty sheets of paper will 
hardly contain shall he discovered in one (1644), would find, to 
his surprise, that it has nothing to do with his business, but 
relates to the civil war. So also might mistakes very readily 
occur with regard to Tooke's Diversions of Purley, which a 
village book-club is said to have ordered at the time of its 
publication, under the impression that it was a book of amus- 
ing games. 

Some titles are agreeably short, and others wonderfully 
long. A few years since, a work was issued with the laconic 
title of It ; and for days previous to its publication, the walls 
of London were placarded with the words, " Order /i5," " Buy 
7?^," "Read It." The naturalist Lovell published a book at 
Oxford, in 1661, entitled Panzoologicomineralogia, which is 
nearly as long a word as Rabelais' proposed title for a book, 
namely, " Antipericatametaparhengedamphicrihrationes ! ! " 

According to Stowe^s Chronicle, the title of Domesday 
Booh arose from the circumstance of the original having been 
carefully preserved in a sacred place at Westminster cloisters, 
called Domus Dei, or House of God. 

Authors of the olden time used to puff their own works by 
afiixing " taking titles " to them ; such as A right merrie and 
wittie enterlude, verie pleasante to reade, etc. A marvellous 
wittie treatise, etc. A delectahle, pithie, and, righte profitahle 
worhe, etc. Addison's Spectator proved so successful, that it 
provoked Johnson to adopt The Idler and Rambler. A very 
aruusing blunder was committed by a certain French critic, 
who, notwithstanding the conventional use of the term, ren- 
dered it Le Chevalier Errant, and who, afterwards, on meet- 
ing with the " Colossus of English literature," addressed him 



186 BOOK CRAFT. 

with the astounding and complimentary epithet of Mr. Vaga- 
bond / 

A pamphlet, published in 1703, had the following strange 
title : " The Deformitie of Sin Cured, a sermon preached at 
St. Michael's, Crooked Lane, before the Prince of Orange, by 
the Rev. J. Crookshanks. Sold by Matthew Denton, at the 
Crooked Billet, near Cripj>legate, and by all booksellers." The 
words of the text are, "Every crooked path shall be made 
straight." The prince, before whom it was delivered, was de- 
formed in person ! 

Many adopted allegorical, fantastic, and absurd titles — such 
as ^'■ArH adeejpe, Husband f a boulster lecture, stored with 
all variety of witty jests, merry tales, and other pleasant 
passages." 1640 ; "iVo^s xijpon Parnassus : a sleepy muse nipt 
and pincht, though not awakened, etc., by some of the wits 
of the Universities ; " "J. Gorgeous Gallery of Gallant In- 
ventions ; garnished and decked with divers dayntie devisis," 
etc., by T. Proctor. 1578 ; " Coryath Crudities^ hastily 
gobled up in five moneths' travells in France, Savoy, Italic," 
etc. 1611; '■'■A fan to drive away flies j' a. iveoXi^e on purga- 
tory ; '■'■The shop of the spiritual apothecary,^'' '■^Matches lighted 
hy divine fire^'' " The gun of 'penitence^ etc." One of famous 
Puritan memory, Sir Humphrey Lind, published a book, 
which a Jesuit answered by another, entitled, "J. pair of 
spectacles for Sir Humphrey Lind ;^'' the doughty knight 
retorted by, "J. case for Sir Humphrey Lindas spectacles^ 

In 1686 a pamphlet was published in London, entitled " A 
Most Delectable Sweet Perfumed Nosegay for God's Saints to 
Smell at." About the year 1649 there was published a work 
entitled " A pair of Bellows to blow off the Dust Cast upon 
John Fry," and " Crumbs of Comfort for the Children of the 
Covenant." A Quaker, whose outward man the authorities 
thought proper to imprison, published " A Sigh of Sorrow for 



BOOK CRAFT. 187 

the Sinners of Zion, Breathed out of a Hole in the Wall of 
an Earthly Yessel," known among men by the name of Samuel 
Fish. About the same time there was also published " The 
Spiritual Mustard-pot to make the Soul Sneeze with Devotion ; " 
" Salvation's Yantage-ground, or a Louping-stand for Heavy 
Believers," Another, " A Shot Aimed at the Devil's Head- 
quarters through the Tube of the Cannon of the Covenant." 
Another, " A Reaping-hook Well Tempered for the Stubborn 
Ears of the Coming Crop ; or, Biscuits Baked in the Oven of 
Charity, Carefully Conserved for the Chickens of the Church, 
the Sparrows of the Spirit, and the Sweet Swallows of Salva- 
tion." In another we have the following copious description 
of its contents, — " Seven Sobs of a Sorrowful Soul for Sin ; 
or, The Seven Penitential Psalms of the Princely Prophet 
David," whereunto are also added William Humino's " Hand- 
ful of Honeysuckles, and divers Godly and pithy Ditties now 
newly augmented." 

It is fortunate for these laborious scribes that they lived in 
times when they found readers courageous enough to venture 
beyond their titles. 

D'Israeli has collected from the dust of departed days, among 
other curious matters, many amusing particulars respecting the 
subjects authors have chosen to dilate upon ; shall we glance at 
a few ? In classic times we have Apuleius and Agrippa, suc- 
ceeded by many moderns, who, to evince their irony and wit. 
selected that fabled emblem of wisdom — the ass. 

One Joshua Barnes wrote a poem with the design of proving 
the authorship of the Iliad, traceable to King Solomon; and 
another French critic, Daurat, who lived in the sixteenth cen- 
tury, pietended, according to Scaliger, to find all the Bible in 
Homer. Du Guere wi'ote an eulogium on Wigs. Erasmus 
amused himself by discussing The Praise of Folly, in his work 
entitled Morice Encomium, which, for the sake of the pun, he 



188 



BOOK CRAFT. 



dedicated to Sir Thomas More. Pierriiis' Treatise on Beards^ 
Ilomer's war between The Frogs and Mice, and Lucian's dis- 
sertation on A Fly, present a curious triumvirate of classic taste; 
and Gray's Ode on The Death of a Cat, Pope's verses on A 
Loch of Hair, and Swift's Meditation on a Broomstick, may 
serve as their companions in modern times. Goldsmith also 
sung his Elegy on a mad dog, and Cowper attuned his lute to 
a dead cat. 

Having reached such a climax, we conclude our chapter 
upon Book Craft — a theme of exhaustless interest to all who 
have any affinity of taste for books, and the intellectual sweets 
they contain, — since our too lavish indulgence in such refined 
epicurism might challenge our mental digestion too severely. 





LAST WOEDS OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS. 



The last utterances of illustrious personages possess for the 
living, an enduring and peculiar interest, derived mainly from 
the controlling influence they once exerte'd in social, religious, 
literary, artistic, or political life. Yet, as Pliny* justly remarks, 
the sayings and actions of the most celebrated have not always 
been the most worthy of admiration. How many among the 
unostentatiously great have passed away without the loud 
clarion of fame to glorify their virtues ; and how many more, 
scarcely less worthy pass away, under eclipse, from the obscur- 
ing or distorting influence of envy, bigotry, or detraction ! 
And yet again, what a goodly number of those who have 
sought to obtain, not the laurel crown of earthly fame, but that 
crown "that fadeth not away — the crown of life!" Their 
record is that of the "patience of hope," and the victory of 
faith. 



190 LAST WORDS OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS. 

" The chamber where the good raan meets his fate 
Is privileged beyond the common walks 
Of virtuous life — quite on the verge of Heaven. " 

The final utterances of sucli persons are eminently worthy 
of our regard, as being illustrative of character, in its highest 
moral development. In grouping together these mortuary 
memoranda, we shall not attempt any order of classification, but 
simply let each citation speak for itself ; for there is a sacred- 
ness about the last words and last acts of the dying, which it 
would be sacrilegious, otherwise, to touch. Their words, too, 
if ever, must be then, earnest and sincere, since as our great 
dramatist has said — 

" Where words are scarce, they're seldom spent in vain, 
For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain ! " 

The momentous crisis of life's last hour, is one of intensest 
interest and solemnity. With what profound sympathy do we 
watch over those dear to us by indescribable ties, as their spirits 
are about to leave the frail body and pass away, impalpably, to 
the spirit- world. They seem to be environed with the mystery of 
the supernatural ; everything concerning their anticipated exit 
from the body, seems to be shrouded from us by impenetrable 
and awful mystery — the mystery of the unknown eternity! 
How intense is the anguish with which we watch the wasting 
form, the changing of the familiar expression of the face, into 
an unearthly one ! How eagerl3% as we bend over the couch of 
the dying, do we watch for the last look, and listen for the last 
syllable ! How we treasure up those last looks, and last words, 
as the cherished living mementos of the departed ! 

Though silent while living, some Christians have become 
vocal at the closing hour ; while others, who have been demon- 
strative and eloquent, by lip and life, like "Whitefield, die and 
make no sign. We must not, however, attach undue value to 



LAST WORDS OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS. 191 

death-bed utterances, as indicative of real character ; sentiments 
expressed under such circumstances, may be possibly prompted 
by impulse rather than principle. Nor are we always to rely 
upon confessions and opinions uttered in life's great emergency, 
as of final authority ; since such testimonies have occasionally 
been as confidently expressed against, as in favor of Chris- 
tianity. Stolid and stoical insensibility may assume the guise 
of complacency or indifference, as to the future state ; but that 
is as diverse from the calm confidence of the true Christian, as 
the counterfeit is to the true coin. Andrew Fuller, whose 
robust intellect was not likely to be seduced by specious 
appearances, exclaimed when dying, — " My hope is such that I 
am not af r.iid to plunge into eternity ! " Could the effect of 
the most triumphant end be stronger ? 

Some there are who, in their last moments only, become 
convinced of the insufiiciency of the world to sustain them in 
the last conflict of dissolving nature. Such are among the 
votaries of fashion, who seem to have no conception that the 
gift of life involved any responsibility for its right use : among 
this class might be named Selwyn, Walpole, Chesterfield, Maz 
arine, Madame de Pompadour, and a host more. 

" "When spirits ebb, when life's enchanting scenes 
Fade in the view, and vanish from the sight, 
Will toys amuse ? No ! thrones will then be toys, 
And earth and skies seem dust upon the scale." 

There is another class of character, whose final utterances 
have been avowedly on the side of infidelity ; let us just glance 
at two of the more prominent of these. Perhaps no one has 
had more literary homage conferred upon him than Yoltaire ; 
yet it would be difiicult to discover an individual so richly 
endowed with intellectual power, yet so utterly despicable in his 
moral nature. His profanity and blasphemy are too well 
known, but it may not be so well known that, in his last 



192 LAST WOKDS OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS. 

moments he commanded his philosophical friends to retire. 
" Begone ! " he exclaimed, " it is you who have brought me to 
my present state." His physician relates that the Marquis of 
Richelieu, one of Voltaire's associates, fled from his bed-side, 
saying that " the furies of Orestes could give but a faint idea 
of those of Yoltaire ! " 

The notorious author of " The Age of Reason," when dying, 
his medical attendant. Dr. Manley, relates that he screamed at 
being left alone, repeatedly exclaiming, — " O Lord, help me ! 
O Christ, help me ! " During his sickness, a neighbor having 
denounced his book, telling him that she had burned it, Paine 
said, that he wished all who had ever read that book, had been 
as wise as she ; adding, — " If ever the devil had an agent on 
earth, I have been one." Pleasant relief it is, to turn from 
these scenes of hopeless death-beds to the calm serenity of that 
of the celebrated Matthew Henry, who, when dying said, — " A 
life spent in the service of God, and communion with Him, is 
the most comfortable and pleasant life that any one can live in 
this present world." And his counsel has been indorsed by 
multitudes of the wisest and noblest of the race, as well as by 
yet greater multitudes who knew not the wisdom of this world, 
but who yet were " wise unto salvation." 

" Is that his death-bed where the Christian lies ? 
No ! 'tis not his : 'tis death itself there dies ! " 

Those ever-memorable words — " Lord Jesus ! receive my 
spirit ! " — with which was committed to the fruitful earth, the 
life-blood of the protomartyr, Stephen, — so faithful an echo of 
the cry of Him, who died that a dying world might live, — ^have 
been themselves re-echoed with the expiring breath of count- 
less multitudes of souls. 

Columbus closed his wonderful career with the same devout 
sentiment, — " In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum 



LAST WORDS OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS. 193 

rrheumP Tasso expired, while uttering the same devout senti- 
ment in the Italian ; and the saintly George Herbert's last ut- 
terance was again, almost verbally the same wish ; and lastly a 
later servant of the sanctuary, the gifted Edward Irving, after 
repeating the twenty-third Psalm in Hebrew, closed his elo- 
quent lips and life on earth, with these words, " If I die, I die 
unto the Lord." 

We weep, instinctively, over the cold lifeless forms of those 
we have loved and lost ; and our sadness and sorrow are often- 
times assuaged or mitigated by the sweet relief of tears. 

" We miss them when, the board is spread, 
We miss them when the prayer is said ; 
But the sadness of this aching love 
Dims not our ' Father's house ' above." 

Beyond the charmed circle of the domestic affections, how- 
ever, there ought to be no inconsolable grief for the departure of 
the great and good, — no tears but those of gratitude should be- 
dew their graves ; for though, like the lark, they have soared 
heavenward, singing as they soar, — they have also enriched us 
by the legacy they have left of their instructive and beautiful 
life record. The living and those whom we call dead, are all 
of one great family ; and those who have passed away from 
among us have yet bequeathed the wealth of their wisdom to 
us, as an imperishable possession. 

John Wesley's last words were, — " The best of all is, God is 
with us ! " Halyburton's death-scene is described as one of the 
most rapturous in the history of the church ; such was also the 
closing hour of the French pastor, Rivet ; such also that of 
worthy Doctor Donne, who exclaimed " I were miserable, if 1 
might not die ! " Among the memorable utterances of this 
saintly man, just before his departure, was this : " I repent of 
my life except that part of it which I spent in communion with 
13 



194 LAST WORDS OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS. 

God, and in doing good ! " Sir "Walter Scott's last words were 
a benediction to his sorrowing home-circle, " God bless you all." 
Sir James Mackintosh, just as he was expiring, expressed nmch 
in little, for it was but a word, yet how significant a one — 
" Hajpjpy ! " Our owai revered Washington's last utterance was in 
a single short sentence, no less expressive — " It is well ! " Tliese 
are a 'few of the echoes from Christian death-chambers ; how 
many, in the heroic ages of the church, have made their exit 
from us, in a sheet of flame, like that dauntless confessor, 
Bishop Ferrar, in 1555, who, while being chained to the stake, 
exclaimed, " If I stir, through the pains of my burning, believe 
not the doctrine I have taught ! " 

" These taught us how to live; and oh, too high 
A price for knowledge, taught us how to die ! " 

" The ruling passion, strong in death," has been often illus- 
trated : Lord Nelson's last words were : " Tell Collingwood to 
bring the fleet to an anchor." The demise of Najpoleon^ at St. 
Helena, which was accompanied by a terrific storm, that tore up 
by the roots most of the trees at Longwood, was another nota- 
ble instance. At six o'clock, in the evening of the 5th of May, 
1820, having just uttered the significant words, ^^Tete d^armee ! " 
the great soldier passed forever from the dreams of battle. 
Cardinal Wolsey's closing hours were characterized by a consis- 
tent hostility to the Protestant faith, for he said : " Master 
Kingston, the King should know that if he tolerates heresy, 
God will take away his Kingdom ! " Erasmus, when dying, 
exclaimed, — " Domine ! Domine ! fac finem, fac finem ! " Lord 
Chesterfield, the idol of fashion — as he lay dying, seeing a friend 
enter his chamber, with his accustomed etiquette, said : " Give 
Dayroles a chair." Charles L, as he ascended the scaffold at 
Whitehall, said : " I fear not death, death is not terrible to me ! " 



LAST WORDS OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS. 195 

Lord Roscommon, when about to expire, uttered with the en- 
ergy of devotion, these two lines of his version of Dies Irce : 

" My God, my Father, and my friend, 
Do not forsake me in my end ! " 

The great Sir Isaac Newton died suddenly and voiceless — 
in the act of winding up his watch ; and Haller, feeling his 
own pulse, exclaimed, " The artery ceases to beat," and instantly 
expired. Goldsmith, when his physician, unable to pronounce a 
diagnosis of his disease, inquired if his mind was at ease, re- 
plied,—" No, it is not ! " These were the last sad words of one 
who had so largely ministered to the intellectual pleasure of the 
civilized world. Just before Pojpe expired, as he sat in his 
chair, a friend called to inquire how he was ; " I am dying, 
sir, of a hundred good symptoms," said the wit. "When a friend 
called upon Dr. Johnson, during his last sickness, and inquired 
how he was, he replied in a melancholy tone, " Jam Mori- 
turus" The dread monster death — on the last day of his ex- 
istence, came to his mental apprehension envisaged with all the 
horrors that had so haunted him through life. Many bishops 
and prominent ministers of religion visited him ; but failed to 
^' minister to a mind diseased ; " and it was reserved for an ob- 
scure clergyman he had formerly known, to suggest that spiri- 
tual consolation his condition demanded. Klojpstock closed a 
beautiful life in the act of reciting his own charming verses, 
descriptive of the death of Mary, the sister of Martha and Laza- 
rus. This song was chanted at the public funeral of the poet. 
Ooethe, after more than the usually allotted term of human ex- 
istence, when met by the summons, was still busy with his pen 
— the implement, at once, of his pleasure and his power ; and he 
sank as a child, with the glow of the day's activity yet on his 
cheek, exclaiming, " More light ! more light ! " Haydn's genius 
like Southey's and others, was under eclipse before his 



196 LAST WORDS OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS. 

earthly life ceased. In his latter years, when visited by stran- 
gers, they found him in a room, sitting before a desk, with the 
melancholy aspect of one who seemed conscious of his lost 
power. When the war broke out between Austria and France, 
in 1809, the intelligence roused Haydn, and exhausted the 
shattered remnant of his remaining strength. The French 
army advanced with gigantic strides, and at length reached 
close upon his house ; yet he was carried to his piano, when 
he sang thrice, as loud as he was able, — " God preserve the Em- 
peror ! " It was the song of the swan ; while at the piano he 
fell into a kind of stupor, and expired. There is something 
strikingly beautiful and touching in the circumstances of the 
death of his brother-composer Mozart — his sweetest song was 
the last he sang, '' the Requiem^ He had been employed upon 
this exquisite piece for several weeks. After giving it its 
last touch, and breathing into it that undying spirit of song, 
which was to consecrate it through all time as his " cygnean 
strain," he fell into a gejitle and quiet slumber. At length, the 
light footsteps of his daughter Emilie awoke him. " Come 
hither," said he, " my Emilie — my task is done — the Requiem 
— my Requiem is finished." " Say not so, dear father," said 
the gentle girl, interrupting him, as tears stood in her eyes ; 
" you must be better — you look better, for even now your cheek 
has a glow upon it. I am sure we will nurse you well again 
— let me bring you something refreshing." " Do not deceive 
yourself, my love," said the dying father ; " this wasted form 
can never be restored by human aid. From Heaven's mercy 
alone do I look for aid, in this my dying hour. You spoke of 
refreshment, my Emilie — take these, my last notes — sit down 
by my piano here — sing them with the hymn of thy sainted 
mother — let me once more hear those tones which have been so 
long my solacement and delight." Emilie obeyed ; and with 



LAST WORDS OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS. 197 

a voice enriched with tenderest emotion, sang the following 
stanzas : 

" Spirit ! thy labor is o'er ! 

Thy term of probation is run ; 
Thy steps are now bound for the untrodden shore ; 
And the race of immortals begun ! 

" Spirit ! look not on the strife, 

Or the pleasures of earth, with regret, — 
Pause not on the threshold of limitless life I 
To mourn for the day that is set. 

" Spirit ! no fetters can bind, 

No wicked have power to molest ; 
There, the weary — like thee, the wi-etched shall find 
A haven, — a mansion of rest, 

" Spirit ! how bright is the road, 

For which thou art now on the wing ! 
Thy home, it will be with thy Saviour and God, 
There loud hallelujahs to sing ! " 

As she concluded, she dwelt for a moment upon the low, 
melancholy notes of the piece, and then turning from the in- 
strument, looked in silence for the approving smile of her father. 
It was the still, passionless smile which the rapt and joyous 
spirit liad left, with the seal of death upon those features. 

The demise of Beethoven was peculiarly impressive. He 
had been visibly declining, when suddenly he revived — a bright 
smile illumed his features, as he softly murmured, "I shall hear 
in heaven," (he was then deaf,) and then sung in a low, but dis- 
tinct voice one of his own beautiful German hymns. 

What a moral grandeur gathers around tlie death-scene of the 
great and good of earth, when sanctified by a religious faith ; 
and how fearful the contrast when the departing spirit leaves 
the world all unprepared, unannealed, unblessed, with all the 
terrible premonitions of a coming judgment. 



198 LAST WORDS OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS. 

It is refreshing to find some evidences of deep consciousness 
of the vast solemnity befitting a dying hour, among men en- 
dowed beyond the average of their race with intellectual 
strength ; as in the case of Grotius, who, on being asked for 
his dying admonition, exclaimed, "-5e serious r'' All his vast 
learning did not allow him to think lightly of the paramount 
claims of those things which make for our eternal peace. Sir 
William Jones, one of the most brilliant geniuses that ever 
lived, affords similar evidence of the right estimate of human 
learning, compared with the more important concerns of the 
future world. "It matters not," says Johnson, "how a man 
dies, but how he lives." And even sceptical Rousseau observes : 
" The great error is, placing such an estimate on this life, as 
if our being depended on it, and we were nothing after death." 
To attach ourselves but slightly to human affairs, is the best 
method of learning to die. When Garrick showed Dr. John- 
son his fine house and gardens, at Hampton Court, instead of 
his replying in the language of fiattery, he exclaimed, " Ah ! 
David, David, these are the things which make a death-bed 
terrible." 





THE MYSTEEIES OF MEDICINE. 



" Man is a dupable animal. Quacks in medicines, quacks in religion, and quacks in politics 
know this, and act upon that knowledge. There is scarcely any one who may not, like a trout, be 
taken by tickling." — Southey. 



Sm Thomas Beowne has nobly sought to dignify the medical 
profession ; and it would be undignified in us to attempt to 
impeach his excellent judgment. There are, however, sundry 
phases of the Faculty that present points of humor and eccen- 
tricity so amusing, that to indulge a little merriment over 
them, cannot but prove an innocent pastime. There is fun 
enougli in " love, law, and physic," if we seek it out. Any one 



200 THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 

with an eye for the ludicrous, will not need any specifications 
in point. Much that is farcical in physic is, by the law of 
electric affinities, transferred to the phj^sician himself. 

Jtidging by the latitudinarianism of some practitioners, and 
the absurd nostrums of empirics and quacks, in all ages, it has 
been gravely asked, whether doctors are really not the final 
cause of disease. It is not, of course, to be disputed, that they 
have been, to no inconsiderable extent, accessory both to the 
reduction of disease and — of life itself. But for the inherent 
tendency of mankind to blind credulity and superstition, it 
may be doubted, whether the profession of medicine would 
ever have been made the vehicle of such gross absurdities and 
cunning impostures, as its past, and especially its earlier history 
reveals. We are not about, however, to cast any imputation 
upon the science of therapeutics ; our purpose being to glance 
at some of the wild and monstrous follies, that have so long 
disputed its claims to the suffrages of society. Medical prac- 
tice has been defined, for the most part, guessing at nature's 
intentions and wishes, and then endeavoring to supplement 
them, by the application of chemical agents. ^ 

" Nature," says a French philosophical writer, " is fighting 
with disease ; a blind man armed with a club, — that is, the 
physician, — comes to settle the difference. He first tries to 
make peace ; when he cannot accomplish this, he lifts his club 
and strikes at random. If he strikes the disease, he kills it ; if 
he strikes nature, he kills the patient." One who himself 
turned states-evidence on this point, — D'Alembert, — relates, that 
an individual, after conducting a prominent practice for thirty 
years, confessed, as his reason for retiring from it, that he was 
weary of guessing ! An industrious nosologist has estimated, 
that there are about twenty-four hundred disorders incident to 
the human frame ! Possibly our great dramatist was not aware 
to what numerical extent reached " the ills that flesh is heir 



THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 201 

to," or he would scarcely have so disparagingly suggested that 
we should " throw physic to the dogs." Or it may possibly 
have been because there is, according to Punchy " an evident 
affinity between physic and the dogs, a fact, that shows the 
master mind of Shakspeare in suggesting the throwing of the 
former to the latter ; for it is clear that every medicine, like 
every dog, has its day. Pills have had their popularity, and 
elixirs have had their run. Lozenges have taken their turn on 
the wheel of fortune, and even pastes have been stuck to, for a 
time, by crowds of adherents." 

Napoleon once said to one of his physicians (Dr. Antom- 
marchi), " Believe me, we had better leave off all these reme- 
dies, — life is a fortress that neither you, nor I, know anything 
about. Why throw obstacles in the way of its defence ? Its 
own means are superior to all the aj)paratus of your laborato- 
ries. Medicine is a collection of uncertain prescriptions, the 
results of which, taken collectively, are more fatal than useful 
to mankind." 

The celebrated Zimmerman went from Hanover to attend 
Frederick the Great, in his last illness. One day the king said 
to him, " You have, I presume, sir, helped many a man into 
another world ? " This was rather a bitter j!?*7^ for the doctor ; 
but the dose he gave the king in return, was a judicious mix- 
ture of truth and flattery : " Not so many as your majesty, nor 
with so much honor to myself," was the reply. Colman says, 
" the medical and military, both deal in death ; " and if true, 
that two of a trade never agree, it may be the emperor was 
jealous of his reputation. 

It has been well said : " The world is peopled by two classes 
of beings, who seem to be cognate and necessary to each other. 
Charlatans and dupes exist by a mutual dependence. There 
is a tacit understanding, that whatever the one invents, the 
other must believe. All bills which the former draws, the 



202 THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 

latter comes forward at ouce and honors. One is Prosj)ero, the 
other his poor slave, Caliban. Let the rogue open shop to dis- 
pense pills, the simpleton, as soon as he learns the fact, hies to 
the place, and takes his box of specifics, and complacently 
walks away with his prize. The knaves seem to consider the 
world as a rich parish — a large diocese of dunces, into which 
they have an hereditary and prescriptive right to be installed." 

Addison, who surrounded himself with all the accessories of 
fortune, seems to have had a depreciating estimate of the 
Faculty. These are his words : " If we look into the profes- 
sion of physic, we shall find a most formidable body of men ; 
the sight of them is enough to make a man serious, for we may 
lay it down as a maxim that when a nation abounds in physi- 
cians, it grows thin of people." This body of men, he com- 
pares to the British army in Caesar's time — some of them slay 
in chariots, and some on foot. If the infantry do less execu- 
tion than the charioteers, it is because they cannot be carried 
so soon into all quarters, and dispatch so much business in so 
short a time. 

Empirics and charlatans are the excrescences of the medical 
profession ; they have obtained in all ages, yet the healing art 
is not necessarily the occasion for deception ; nor the operations 
of witchcraft, charms, amulets, astrology, necromancy, alchemj^, 
or magic ; although it has its mysteries like other branches of 
occult science. 

It is not surprising that men in early ages of civilization, 
should ascribe the curative art, to the potency of some unseen 
and supernatural agency, since the diseases incident to the 
human family were supposed to be the result of the ire of the 
heathen deities. 

The Jews are the fii'st people on record who practised the 
art of healing, which they probably learned from the Egyp- 
tians ; but the Greeks, who worshipped ^sculapius, as the god 



THE IMYSTERIES OF MEDICmE. 203 

of medicine, lirst reduced that art to a regular system. Hippo- 
crates, is justly considered the father of physic, being the 
most ancient author, whose writings on that subject are pre- 
served. The most celebrated physicians who succeeded him 
were Asclepiades, Celsus, and Galen. 

Old astrologers, and the like fraternity, with their mathe- 
matical marks and zodiacal signs, sought to invest their craft 
with a mysterious sanctity. Boasting its origin and authority 
to be heaven-derived, with its blazonry of factitious distinction ; 
would it be suspected after all, that the curative art is to be 
traced even to the instinct of the brutes ? For example, the 
sagacious dog, when indisposed, may be seen to enact liimself 
the doctor, by a resort to the fields to eat a quantity of prickly 
grass — an expedient which seldom fails of success, by acting as 
an emetic. The same with the cat, when she finds herself " a 
little under the weather," forthwith she sneaks off for some 
catnip. There is a story related of an Arabian shepherd, who, 
having observed the goats of his fiock, as often as they browsed 
upon the coffee-fruit, to skip about and exhibit signs of intoxi- 
cation, tasting the berry himself, tested the fact. The apes of 
Abyssinia, in the same way, indicated to their superior masters, 
the laxative qualities of the cassia fistula. One might almost 
suppose, therefore, a necessity for the resorting to sorcery, 
witchcraft, stichomancy, and other mysterious agencies, in 
order to disguise the humble sources of some elementary 
branches of our famed medical lore. Egypt, India, and Pales- 
tine seem to have been blessed with no small supply of the 
erudite in these matters ; such as pneumatologists, exorcists, 
magicians, thaumaturgists, and enchanters. These magi com- 
bined, with their exercise of the healing art for the body, the 
power of curing psychological maladies, and wdth such an ex- 
tensive variety of practice, these ancient sages must have made 
a tolerably good thing of it. In Greece and Rome, sorcery and 



204 THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICmE. 

its kindred arts were extensively resorted to; and even till 
recent times, such incantations were practised in some of the 
most polished countries of Europe. 

Pliny speaks of one Chrysippas, reputed a famous practi- 
tioner of his day, who gained his notoriety by advocating cab- 
hages as the panacea for all complaints ! 

In Egypt, medicine was fettered by absurd regulations. 
The chief priests confined themselves to the exercise of magic 
rites and prophecies, which they considered the higher 
branches of the art, and left the exhibition of remedies to the 
pastoj)hori, or image-bearers. They were compelled to follow 
implicitly the medical precepts of the sacred records contained 
in the " hermetical books," a deviation from which was punish- 
able with death. From a superstitious dread of evil, and a de- 
sire to penetrate into futurity, arose the mystic divination of 
Greece and Rome, as well as that of the Druids. This divina- 
tion assumed the sanctity of a religious ceremony, and thus 
priests became invested with a supposed supernatural power 
for the cure of diseases. Thus, magic and medicine were 
allied with astrology and religion. 

Paracelsus was the prince of charlatans ; he styled himself, 
indeed, the " King of physic " ; and although he professed to 
have discovered the elixir of life, yet it does not seem to have 
been available in his own case, for he died at the early age of 
forty-eight years. 

Among quaint and marvellous nostrums of the renowned 
Alhertus Magnus is the following sagacious specific against a 
faithless memory : " If the harte, eye or brayne of a lapwinge 
or black plover, be hanged upon a man's necke, it is profitable 
agaynste forgetf ulnesse, and sharpeth man's understandinge." 

That notorious old astrologer, Nostradamus of Salon, was of 
the medical fraternity, and also a mathematician and prophet ! 
His reputation was established by the publication, in 1555, of 



THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 205 

a grim folio, comprising his mj'stic prophecies. These attract- 
ing the notice of Henry II., he sent for the author to Paris to 
consult him, as also did Catharine de Medici. 

Among other delusions of past times was that of the royal 
gift of healing. It has been remarked as singular, that, with the 
vulgar errors exposed by Sir Thomas Browne, in his Pseudo- 
doxia Ej^idenfiica^ there should be no mention made of this ; 
but, from a case related in the Adenochdiradelogia, it would 
seem that this eccentric but able man had himself faith in the 
thing. Burton, in his Anatomie of Melancholie, notices many 
curious recipes and " Bookes of Physicke." One work, en- 
titled The Queenus Closet Opened, containing " divers things 
necessary to be knowne, collected out of sundrie olde written 
bookes, and broughte into one order. The several things here- 
in contayned may be seen in the bookes and tables follow- 
inge, written in the yeare of our Lorde God 1610." The work 
commences* with the ' thirty-three evil dayes " of the yeare, 
and a general calendai ; there is a curious medley of rules 
about the weather, astronomical calculations, and prognostica- 
tions. The first book has this : " A coppye of all such medi- 
cines wherewith ye noble Countess of Oxenforde, most chari- 
tably, in her owne person, did manye greate and notable cures 
upon poor neighboures." The second book is entitled, " Here 
beginneth a true coppye of such medicines wherewith Mrs. 
Johan Ounsteade, daughter unto the worshipfule Mr. John 
Oliffe, Alderman of London, hath cured and healed many f or- 
lorne and deadlie diseases," etc. An extract from the above 
will show the then state of medical science. " To take away 
frekels — take the bloude of an hare, annoynte them with it, 
and it will doe them away." " For a man or woman that hath 
lost theire speeche — take wormwood, and stampe it, and tem- 
per it with water, strayne it, and with a spoone doe of it into 
theire mouthes." 



206 THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 

In Andrew Borde's Breviarie of Health, one of the earliest 
medical works (1547), in the English language, occurs the fol- 
lowing curious passage respecting love-sickness. " Hereos is 
the Greke word ; in Latin it is named amor ; in English it is 
named love-sick ^ and women may have this fickleness as well 
as men. Toung persons be much troubled with this impedi- 
ment." After stating the cause of this " infirmitie," he pre- 
scribes the following remedy : " First I do advertise every per- 
son not to set to the harte, what another doth set to the heale ; 
let no man -set his love so far, but that he may withdraw it be- 
time ; and muse not, but use mirth and merrie company, and 
be wise and not foolish." 

The practice of physic, it must be apparent, is easily sus- 
ceptible of being made the occasion of cheat and imposture. 
Abernethy, on being appealed to by a patient on behalf of her 
fanjiied indisposition, had the frankness (after taking his 
guinea fee) to state that her symptoms merely indicated the ab- 
sence of health and also of disease, and handing her back a shil- 
ling, advised her to get a shijpping-rojpe and use it. Walpole says 
that acute and sensible people are frequently the most easily de- 
ceived by quacks. A recent writer, referring to the success 
which generally attends any daring and impudent imposture, 
remarks : " If the cheat required ingenuity to detect it, there 
might be some hope for mankind ; but it actually lies con- 
cealed in its "oery ohviousness^ 

Physicians were formerly ecclesiastics. A curious instance 
of preferring the medical to the clerical profession, from the 
conceit of supposed destiny, is thus related : 

" Andrew Kudiger, a physician of Leipsic, took it into his 
head to form an anagram on his name ; and in the words 
Andreas Rudigerus he found a vocation, namely, ' Arare rus 
Dei dignus^ Thereupon he concluded that he was called to 
the priesthood, and began to study theology. Soon after, he 



THE MYSTERIES OF IVIEDICINE. 207 

became tutor to the children of the learned Thomasius. This 
philosopher one day told him that he had much better apply to 
medicine, Rudiger admitted his inclination to that profession, 
but stated that the anagram of his name — which he explained 
to Thomasius — had seemed to him a divine vocation to the 
priesthood. ' What a simpleton you are ! ' said Thomasius ; 
^ why, 'tis the very anagram of your name that calls you to 
medicine, Rusdei — i's, wot \hsit t\\Q hu7nal ground f And who 
ploughs it better than the doctors ? ' In effect, Rudiger turned 
doctor, unable to resist the interpretation of his anagram." 

In the year 1Y76, there lived a German doctor, who styled 
himself, or was called, " the Rain-water doctor " ; all the diseases 
to which flesh is heir, he professed to cure by this simple agent. 
Some wonderful cures were, it is said, achieved by means of 
his application of this fluid, and his reputation spread far and 
wide ; crowds of maimed and sickly folk flocked to him, seek- 
ing relief at his hands. What is yet more remarkable still, 
he declined accepting any fee from his patients ! 

Nostrums, like Nostradamus, have their day ; when the spe- 
cific for all diseases, some years hence, was camomile tea, a wag 
thus sang its virtues : 

" Let doctors, or quacks, prescribe as they may, 
Yet none of their nostrums for me ; 
For I firmly believe — what the old women say 
That there's nothing like camonule tea ! 

' ' In health it is harmless, and, say what you please, 
One thing is stOl certain with me, 
It suits equally well with every disease, 
O, there's nothing like camomile tea. 

" The cancer and colic, the scurvy and gout, 
The blues, and all evils d'esprit, 
When once fairly lodged, can be only forced out 
By forcing z?i camomile tea !" 



208 THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 

The laborious professional study of the matriculated pliysi- 
cian is unsought by the quack ; he, — Pallas-like, all armed 
from the brain of Jove, — rushes into his reckless practice, " en- 
cased over in native brass, from top to toe," but wholly desti- 
tute of the requisite skill for his office. He knows not even 
the alphabet of medicine ; yet, defiant of reason and responsi- 
bility, his supposed intuitive wit and arrogance prevail. It 
has been said, however, with truth, that the followers of quacks 
are the cause of quackery ; they are the cause of the number- 
less homicides that have been committed with such impunity. 
These are sceptics of the faculty, but idolaters of empiricism. 
These deluded patients persevere with a pertinacity that is in- 
vincible, till they discover, too late, that they have been advan- 
cing, backwards. As illustrative of the reckless wickedness of 
these pseudo-doctors, we present the following instances. The 
Duke de Rohan, while in Switzerland, had occasion to send for 
a physician ; the most famous of the day came to him, styling 
himself Monsieur Thibaud. " Your face," said the Duke, 
" seems familiar to me ; pray, where have I seen you before ? " 
" At Paris, perhaps, my Lord Duke," he replied, " when I had 
the honor to be farrier to your grace's stables. I have now a 
great reputation as a physician; I treat the Swiss as I used to 
do your horses, and I find, in general, I succeed as well. I 
must request your grace not to make me known, for if you do, 
I shall be ruined ! " There was a notorious charlatan at Paris, 
some years ago, named Mantaccini, who, after having squan- 
dered his patrimony, sought to retrieve his fortune by turning 
quack. He started his carriage, and made tours round the 
country, pompously professing to effect cures of all diseases 
with a single touch, or even a look. Failing in this bold 
essay, he attempted another yet more daring — that of reviving 
the dead, at will ! To remove all doubt, he declared that, in 
fifteen days, he would go to the church-yard, and restore to life 



THE aiySTERIES OF MEDICINE. 209 

its inhabitants, though buried fifteen years. This declaration 
excited a general murmur against the doctor, who, not in the 
least disconcerted, applied to the magistrate, and requested 
that he might be put under a guard to prevent his escape, 
until he should perform his undertaking. The proposition 
inspired the greatest confidence, and the whole city came to 
consult the daring empiric, and pm-chase his haume de vie. 
His consultations were numerous, and he received large sums 
of money. At length the noted day approached, and the doc- 
tor's valet, fearing for his shoulders, began to manifest signs 
of uneasiness. "You know nothing of mankind," said the 
quack to his servant ; " be quiet." Scarcely had he spoken 
the words, when the following letter was presented to him 
from a rich citizen : " Sir, the great operation you are about to 
perform has broken my rest. I have a wife buried for some 
time who was a fury, and I am unhappy enough already, with- 
out her resurrection. In the name of heaven, do not make the 
experiment. I will give you fifty louis to keep your secret to 
yourself." Soon after, two dashing beaux arrived, who urged 
him with the most earnest entreaties not to raise their old 
father, formerly the greatest miser in the city, as in such an 
event, they would be reduced to the most deplorable indigence. 
They offered him a fee of sixty louis ; but the doctor shook his 
head in doubtful compliance. Scarcely had they retired, when 
a y<->ung widow, on the eve of matrimony, threw herself at the 
feet of the quack, and with sobs and sighs, implored his mercy. 
In short, from morn till night, he received letters, visits, pre- 
sents, and fees, to an excess which absolutely overwhelmed 
him. The minds of the citizens were differently and violently 
agitated ; some by fear, and others by curiosity, so that the 
mayor of the city waited upon the doctor, and said : " Sir, I 
have not the least doubt, from my experience of your rare 
talents, that you will be able to accomplish the resurrection in 
14 



210 THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 

our church-yard, the day after to-morrow, according to your 
promise ; but I pray you to observe that our city is in the 
utmost uproar and confusion ; and to consider the dreadful 
revolution your experiment must produce in every family ; I 
entreat you, therefore, not to attempt it, but to go away, and 
thus restore tranquillity to the city. In justice, however, to 
your rare talents, I shall give you an attestation, in due form, 
under our seal, that you can revive the dead., and that it was 
our own fault that we were not eye-witnesses of your power." 
This certificate, our reliable authority continues, was duly 
signed and delivered. The illustrious Mantaccini left Lyons 
for other cities, to work new miracles and manoeuvres. In a 
short time, he returned to Paris loaded with gold, laughing at 
the credulity of his victims. One more citation of this kind. 
Count Cagliostro and his wife made their debut at St. Peters- 
burg, pretending to a power of conferring perpetual youth — 
investing old people with rejuvenescence. The countess, who 
was not more than -twenty, spoke of her son, who had long 
served in the army. This expedient of making old people 
young again, could not fail to afPect certain aged ladies, who 
are exjDert in diminishing instead of adding to their years. 
This experiment upon popular credulity did not, however, 
last long ; yet it yielded a golden harvest while it continued. 

It is related of a certain quack, in a country town in Eng- 
land, that he resorted to the following expedient, for creating 
a little notoriety, by way of a start. On his arrival, he an- 
nounced himself by sending the bell-man — an official of great 
importance in former times — to disturb the quiet of the honest 
people of the place, by proclaiming the reward of fifty guineas 
for the recovery of his pet poodle ; of course, the physician 
who could be so lavish with his money for such a trifling pur- 
pose, could not but be a man of preeminence in his profession. 
Millingen records the curious fact of two miracle-working doc- 



THE MYSTEKIES OF MEDICINE. 211 

tors having taken London by storm, many years ago, who laid 
claim to the unpronounceable names of Tetrachymagogon and 
Fellino Guffino Cardimo Cardimao Frames (!), which were 
plastered about the walls of the city, exciting the amazement 
and curiosity of the gullible multitude. 

The next instance we have to introduce to our friends re- 
joiced in the not uncommon name of Graham, who, in the 
year 17S2, made a great sensation in London. He was gifted 
with great fluency of speech, and indulged in towering hyper- 
bole and bombast, with which he sought to gull the wonder- 
loving multitude. He opened a splendid mansion in Pall-Mail, 
which he styled the " Temple of Health." 

Among other whimsicalities, he, too, pretended to have dis- 
covered the elixir of life. His terms for this invaluable spe- 
cific for longevity, were, it is true, rather extravagant for 
common people, — but, of course, so desirable a boon ought not 
to be made too cheap. More than one nobleman, it is recorded, 
actually paid him the enormous fee of one thousand pounds ! 
Rather an expensive premium for the purchase of a little com- 
mon sense. This wonderful discovery, however, did not last 
long; the delusion exploded, — tlie quack himself died, after 
vainly practising various other mummeries, at the age of fifty- 
two years — neglected, and despised. 

Among notable and eccentric physicians of former times, 
was Jerome Cardan, of Milan, who flourished, and physicked 
the valetudinarians of the sixteenth century. His life, also, 
was full of various incidents. After enduring the extreme of 
misfortune, he rose to the height of professional honor ; he 
was battling throughout his life, both with men and with 
books ; so we need not wonder that he became notorious. 

His name has been placed in succession to that of Galen, 
who was the great authority, when he made his professional 
appearance. His first book bore the title, De Malo Medendi 



212 THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 

Usa — denouncing seventy-two errors in existing practice! 
Most of his corrections, have been re-corrected by his suc- 
cessors. Astrology by no means satisfied his thirst for divi- 
nation. He had a system of Cheiromancy, and was very pro- 
found on the lines in the human hand, and a science com- 
pletely his own, which he called Metojposcojpy . The following 
extract will show that the character and fortunes of an indi- 
vidual are thus revealed by the lines in his forehead : 

" Seven lines, drawn at equal distances, one above another, 
horizontally across the whole forehead, beginning close over 
the eyes, indicate respectively the regions of the Moon, Mer- 
cury, Yenus, the Sun, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. The signifi- 
cation of each planet is always the same, and forehead-reading 
is thus philosophically allied to the science of palmistry." 

Doctors have, by some, been called a cl'isa of men who live 
on the misfortunes of their fellow-creatures; by others, the 
alleviators of life's miseries. Illustrative instances of both 
abound. Doubtless, many, by potions, but multitudes by pills 
have been sent out of the world, sooner than they need have 
gene ; and yet, at this moment, what a pillage is going on 
among our patients and valetudinarians ! Who has not heard 
of that triumvirate of pill-princes — Morrison, Moffatt, and 
Brandreth ; not to refer to the plebeian pill-mongers who 
prowl about all places, seeking whom they may betray ! 

One of the most notable instances on record of pill taking, is 
the following : an eccentric old bachelor, named Jessup, who 
died in Lincolnshire, in 1817, had such an inordinate appetite 
for pills, that his apothecary had to sue him at law, for his bill. 
At the trial the defendant was proved to have taken during 
twenty-one years (1791-1816), no less than 226,934 pills ; which 
is at the rate of 10,806 pills a year, or 29 pills each day ! But 
as the patient began with a less voracious craving, and it In- 
creased as he proceeded, in the last five years, he took the pills 



THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 213 

at the rate of 78 a day, and in the year 1814, he swallowed not less 
than 51,590 ! Notwithstanding this, and the addition of 40,000 
bottles of mixture, this pill-devourer extraordinary contrived 
to live to sixty-five years. One can scarcely swallow the story. 

One, and not the least of the mysteries of medicine, is its 
technology ; let ns look at it : for it is a puzzle to all but the 
initiated', — the disciples of JEsculapius. A recent writer* re- 
marks that medical lore would lose much of its potency and 
control over the faith of mankind, were its dicta uttered in the 
vulgar tongue. The same technical and, to the popular mind, 
unintelligible verbiage is no less applicable to most of the sci- 
ences — botany, chemistry, astronomy, natural history, and meta- 
physics, not to mention law. " A fish-woman was sileijced by 
the word hypothenuse, applied as an epithet ; and many persons 
who would have no objection to bleeding, would receive a pro- 
position to phlebotomize them, with much alarm. The language 
of the men of medicine is a fearful concoction of sesquipedalian 
words, numbered by thousands. He was a mere novice who 
spoke of ' a severe contusion of the integuments under the left 
orbit, with great extravasation of blood and ecchymosis in the 
surrounding cellular tissue, which was in a " tunefied state ; " ' 
— meaning a black eye ! The medical authorities describe, for 
instance, ' Blood root ' {Sanguinaria Canadensiis) as acrid, 
emetic, with narcotic and stimulant properties, exj)ectorant, 
sudorific, alterative, emraenagogue, escharotic, and errhine, ac- 
cording to the way in which it is used. Its escharotic action 
renders it beneficial when applied in hypochondriasis. Prickly 
ash {^anthoxylum Fraxineum) is stimulant, tonic, alterative, 
and sialogogue, producing heat, arterial excitement, and a ten- 
dency to diaphoresis." 

Latin, or " dog-latin," as it has been st^ded, seems to be as 
essential an accessory to the profession of medicine, as to that of 
* Putnam's Magazine. 



214 THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE, 

law. So long as mystery has a controlling influence over the 
untutored mind; tlie practitioners in both these departments 
of professional life, will, doubtless, adhere to the use of the so- 
called dead language, as most consistent with the genius of 
their calling. "We offer, for the sake of change, however, a 
fugitive prescription, free of charge, and in the vulgar tongue^ 
— in verse moreover : a poetical prescription to be taken, if re- 
quired : 

" Take, take, pill and colocyntli; 

Aye, sir, your liver is much out of order ; 
Take, take, rhubarb and ague menth ; 
Close on acute inflammation you border. 
Symptoms about your head, 
Makes me congestion dread. 
When I take them with the rest in conjunction ; 
Leave ofE wine, beer, and grog ; 
Arrowroot aU your prog. 
Let organs rest to recover their function." 

"Doctor, what do you think is the cause of this fi'equent 
rush of blood to my head ? " asked a patient, " O, it is nothing 
but an effort of iiature," was the reply ; " nature, you know, 
abhors a vacuum." 

In the times of the renowned Radcliflfe, the gold-headed 
cane was the sceptre of authority, among the medical profes- 
sion. Dignity dwelt in that mysterious symbol, and safeguard^ 
— for such it was. It served the double purpose of imparting 
dignity to the doctor, and as a protector against contagious 
diseases, it being filled with disinfecting herbs, which he ap- 
plied to his olfactories when with patients. A good joke is re- 
lated of him and his next door neighbor. 

Sir Godfrey Kneller and Dr. Radcliffe lived next door to 
each other, in Bow street, London. Kneller had a fine garden, 
and as the parties were intimate friends, and the doctor was 
fond of flowers, the other consented to his having a door intc^ 



THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 215 

it. Some of the doctor's servants, however, destroyed the 
flovs^ers, and Sir Godfrey sent word to him, that he would nail 
up the door ; to which Radcliffe responded thus, " Tell him he 
may do anything but paint it." " Well," retorted Kneller, " he 
may say what he will, for I will take anything from him ex- 
cept physic ! " Another good story is told of Had cliff e : he 
attended a friend professionally for a year gratuitously, al- 
though the accustomed fee was uniformly tendered, when he 
called. On his last visit his friend sq,id, " Doctor, here is a 
purse in which I have put every day's fee ; and your goodness 
must not get the better of my gratitude. Take your money." 
EadcUffe was not proof against the temptation ; so he said, — 
" Singly, sir, I could have refused them for a twelvemonth ; 
but altogether, they are irresistible." 

When the celebrated Dumoulin was on his death-bed, and 
some of the most eminent physicians of Paris were bemoaning 
his expected loss to the profession, he said, — " Gentlemen, I 
shall leave behind me three excellent doctors to supply my ab- 
sence." Being pressed to name them, as each expected to be 
included in the trio, he answered, — " Wate?', Exercise^ and DietP 

Whether we think of it, or not, the weather has not a little 
to do with the doctors. We often say, — " It is an ill wind that 
blows nobody any good;" and that means, we suppose, an 
east-wind. Dr. Alexander, of Princeton, was once asked, if 
he enjoyed " assurance of faith ? " " Yes," he replied, " except 
when the wind is in the east ! " 

We found recently a doctor's reflections on this airy subject, 
and the direct bearings it has upon his practice : 

" 111 is the wind, good, that no one doth blow, 

Taking mankind altogether ; 
Hail to that wind which blows hard frost and snow, 

Medico-surgical weather ! 
Prospects of many a bill and a fee, 

Suecitate pleasing reflections ; 



216 THE MYSTERIES OF IHEDICINE. 

Ills blown to others, are good blown to me, 

Namely, thoracic afiEections ; 
Air-tubes, disorders of ; also, catarrh, 

Cough, influenza, bronchitis. 
Peripneumonia's gainful ; so are 

Phthisis, dyspnoea, pleuritis. 
Numerous patients, moreover, accrue, 

Just now, from those inflammations, 
Which, a peculiar diathesis through, 

Seize on the articulations. 
Nerves, muscles, tendons ; rheumatic attacks, 

Cases, no end, of lumbago, 
And of the hip that sciatica racks ; 

Down in my visit-book they go." 



For the sake of variety, we will glance at some comical 
patients, the victims of mental illusion, hypochondria, phan- 
tasm, and monomania. It is scarcely necessary to inquire into 
the physical causes to which usually these maladies are to be 
ascribed ; we cite a case, from the numerous instances recorded 
by Dr. Rush, of mental derangement, and for the accuracy of 
which he vouches. It was of an unfortunate individual who 
was possessed with the strange conceit that he was once a 
calf ; the name of the butcher that killed him being given, who 
kept a stall in Philadelphia market, at whicli place was sold, 
without his leave or license, his hodily right and title, previous 
to his inhabiting his present " fleshly tabernacle." We do not 
venture into the region of spectral illusions, or ghosts, but we 
may mention, in passing, the case of a crazy young lady, re- 
corded by Dr. Ferriar, who fancied herself accompanied by 
her own apparition, and who may, of course, therefore, justly 
be said to have been, indeed, often — heside herself. A Lusi- 
tanian physician had a patient who insisted that he was en- 
tirely frozen, so that he would sit before a large fire, even dur- 
ng the dog-days, and yet cry of cold. A dress of rough sb©ep- 



THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 217 

skins, saturated with aqua vitae, was made for him, and they 
set him on fire ; he then confessed that he was, for the first 
time, quite warm — rather too much so ; and thus this genial 
remedy cured him of his frigidity altogether. 

The following ludicrous story is told in the London Lancet : 
" While residing at Rome," says the narrator, " I paid a visit 
to the lunatic asylum there, and among the remarkable patients 
was one, pointed out to me, who had been saved, with much 
difficulty, from inflicting death upon himself by voluntary 
starvation in bed, under an impression that he was defunct, 
declaring that dead people never eat. It was soon obvious to 
all, that the issue must be fatal, when the humane doctor be- 
thought of the following stratagem: Half-a-dozen of the 
attendants, dressed in wliite shrouds, and their faces and hands 
covered with chalk, were marched in single file, with dead 
silence, into a room adjoining that of the patient, where he 
observed them, through a door purposely left open, sit down 
to a hearty meal. ' Hallo ! ' said he, that was deceased, pres- 
ently to an attendant ; ' who be they ? ' ' Dead men,' was 
the reply. ' What ! ' rejoined the corpse, ' dead men eat % ' 
^To be sure they do, as you see,' answered the attendant. 
'■ If that's the case ! ' exclaimed the defunct, ' I'll join them, 
for I'm famished ; ' and thus instantly was the spell broken." 

A young man had a strange conceit that he was dead, and 
earnestly begged his friends to bury him. They consented by 
the advice of the physician. He was laid upon a bier, and car- 
ried upon the shoulders of men to church, when some pleasant 
• fellows, ujp to the joke, met the procession, and inquired who 
it was ; they answered : " And a very good job it is," said one 
of them, " for the world is well rid of a very bad and vicious 
character, which the gallows must have had in due course." The 
pseudo-dead young man, hearing this, popped his head up, 
and said, they ought to be ashamed of themselves in thus tra- 



218 THE MYSTERIES OF JIEDICINE. 

ducing his fair fame, and if he were only alive, he would thrash 
them for their insolence. But they proceeded to utter the 
most disgraceful and reproachful language, — dead flesh and 
3lood could no longer bear it ; up he jumps, they run, he after 
them, until he fell down quite exhausted. He was put to bed ; 
the violent exertion he had gone through promoted perspira- 
tion, and he got well. 

It is pertinent to our subject to refer, perhaps, to the anal- 
ogy and reciprocal influence of the body and soul — mind and 
matter. That such analogy exists, and exhibits itself in a most 
indubitable manner, exerting a most powerful sympathy, none, 
of course, will question ; were it otherwise, a matter in dis- 
pute, we might offer many suggestions proposed by various ph}^- 
sicians and metaphysicians ; but we shall content ourselves by 
simply quoting a passage on the subject, from Haslam, in his 
work on Sound Mind. Referring to these curious analogies, 
he says : " There seems to be a considerable similarity between 
the morbid state of the instruments of voluntary motion {i. e., 
the body), and certain affections of the mental powers. Thus, 
paralysis has its counterpart in the defects of recollection, 
where the utmost endeavor to remember is ineffectually ex- 
erted. Tremor may be compared with incapability of fixing 
the attention ; and this involuntary state of the muscles, ordi- 
narily subjected to the will, also finds a parallel where the 
mind loses its influence in the train of thought, and becomes 
subject to spontaneous intrusions ; as may be exemplified in 
reveries, dreaming, and some species of madness." Excessive 
irritation of the brain is the result of inordinate mental excite- 
ment ; the physical economy thus becomes deranged, and this 
condition of bodily disease again reacts prejudicially on the 
mental powers. These effects are more or less observable 
under different conditions, much depending on organic struc- 
ture, constitutional predisposition, climate, or the peculiar cir- 



THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 219 

ciimstances by which the individual may be surrounded. 
While the effects, however, of this reciprocal influence of mind 
and matter are apparent, the cause remains unrevealed ; and 
to this fact may be referred the many ludicrous blunders and 
wild imaginings of sundry wise-acres, who have sought to ac- 
count for a matter so occult. So inscrutable and all-pervading 
is this union and sympathy between the "fleshly tabernacle" 
and its noble occupant, that in essaying to address any part of 
the fabric, the dweller is inevitably found to respond to the 
appeal. Physiologists tell us that our imagination is freest 
when the stomach is but slightly replenished with food; it is 
also more healthful in spring than in winter ; in solitude than 
in company ; and in modulated light, rather than in the full 
blaze of the noonday sun. Climate affects the temper, because 
it first influences the muscular system and the animal solids ; 
and who does not know that our happiness and repose are de- 
pendent upon the well-balanced condition of the biliary sys- 
tem. In such cases, it is the province of medicine to rectify 
the moral, as well as the physical derangement at the same 
moment of time. An eminent physician at Leyden, Dr. Gau- 
bius, who styled himself " Professor of the Passions," recites a 
curious case of a woman, upon whom he repeatedly enacted 
venesection, being of an inflammable temperament, as avouched 
by her liege-lord ; which operation, he says, finally induced the 
happiest i-esults. This notable practitioner was as au fait at 
metaphysics as medicine ; he cured morals and manners, as 
well as maladies of the body. Dry den confessed his indebted- 
ness to cathartics for the propitiating of his muse ; his imagin- 
ative faculty being thus dependent, as he thought, upon the 
elasticity of his viscera. And as we before intimated, there 
are, unquestionably, constitutional moral disorders — such as 
temporary or periodical fits of passion, or melancholy, as well 
as other impulsive emotions ; these, for the most part, are in- 



220 THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 

voluntaiy, or easily provoked under certain exciting circum- 
stances. A moral patient, who suffers himself to become the 
wretched victim of intemperance, is sure to need onlj opiates ; 
and nature, in due time, recovers from the outrage, although 
he may not from the disgrace. And when some pitiable wight 
is found suffering from the master-passion, love (a perfect ty- 
rant in its way, which usually overturns all a man's common 
sense, and blinds him into the bargain), the unfortunate one 
is sure to come " right side up," in his sober senses, too, by ad- 
ministering the process of a cold bath in the river, provided 
some benevolent bystander rescue him in time to cheat the 
fishes. A certain Milanese doctor is said to have resorted to a 
similar expedient for the cure of madness and other distempers. 
His practice consisted in placing his patients in a great high- 
walled enclosure, in the midst of which there was a deep well 
of water, as cold as ice, into which his unfortunate victims 
were plunged, being secured to a pillar ; when they were 
thoroughly saturated, and their courage cooled, they were liber- 
ated. In their bodily fear and shock they generally got rid of 
their complaints. That was a cold water cure ! 

The effects of the imagination upon bodily health are al- 
ready familiar to the reader. 

Bouchet, a French author of the sixteenth century, states 
that the physicians at Montpelier, which was the great school 
of medicine, had every year two criminals, the one living, the 
other dead, delivered to them for dissection. lie relates that 
on one occasion they tried what effect the mere expectation of 
death would produce upon a subject in perfect health, and in 
order to these experiments, they told the gentleman (for such 
was his rank), who was placed at their discretion, that, as the 
easiest mode of taking away his life, they would employ the 
means which Seneca had chosen for himself, and would there- 
fore open his veins in warm water. Accordingly, they covered 



THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 221 

his face, pinched his feet without lancing them, and set them 
in a footbath, and then spoke to each other as if they saw blood 
flowing freely, and life departing with it. Then the man re- 
mained motionless; and when, after awhile, they uncovered 
his face, they found him dead. 

Hope and success are finer tonics than any to be found in 
the apothecaries' shops, and even fear may boast its cures. A 
German physician, so reads the tale, succeeded in curing an 
epidemic convulsion, among the children of a poor-house, by 
the fear of a red-hot poker. The fits had spread by sympathy 
and imitation ; and this great physician, mistrusting the ordi- 
nary remedies in so grave a case, heated his instrument, and 
threatened to burn the first who should fall into a fit. The 
convulsions did not return. 

A celebrated scholar was once attacked with fever at a coun- 
try inn. He was visited by two physicians ; and one of them, 
supposing from the poverty of his appearance that he would 
not understand a foreign language, said to the other in Latin, 
" Let's try an experiment on this poor fellow." As soon as 
they were gone, the patient got out of bed, hurried on his 
clothes, scampered off as fast as he could, and was cured of his 
fever by his fright. 

In England, some years ago, a girl, being attacked with ty- 
phus fever, was sent to the hospital. A week afterwards, her 
brother was seized with the same disease, and was sent to the 
same institution. The nurses were helping him up the stairs 
at the hospital. On the way, he was met by some persons who 
were descending with a coffin on their shoulders. The sick 
man inquired whose body they were removing, when one of 
the bearers inadvertently mentioned the girl's name. It was 
his sister. The brother, horror-struck, sprang from his con- 
ductors, dashed down stairs, out of the hospital gate, and never 
stopped running until he had reached home — a distance of 



222 THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 

twelve miles ! He flung himself on the bed immediately, fell 
into a sound sleep, and awoke next morning, entirely cured of 
his illness. 

Solomon tells us that " a merry heart doeth good, like a 
medicine," and experience has proved it to be a panacea for 
many minor ills. Not a few of the Faculty are aware of the 
fact, and hence they have achieved marvellous cures by their 
combination of puns, potions, and pills. 

Among our various maladies, apparently midway between 
the mental and physical is the headache — a malady by no 
means uncommon, but which we welcome none the more from 
its frequency. Like a cold in the head, it is no joke, yet some 
wag has had the temerity to treat it as one, in the following 
lyric lines : 

" A cold in the head ! 
What need be said 
Uglier, stupider, more ill-bred : 
Almost any other disease 
May be romantic, if you please ; 
But who can scoff 
At a very bad cough ? 
If you have a fever, you're laid on the shelf, 
To be sure — but then you pity yourself. 
And your friends' anxiety highly excited, 
The curtains are drawn, and the chamber lighted, 
Dimly, and softly, pleasanter f ar. 
Than the staring sunshine that seems to jar 
Every nerve into a separate knock, 

And aU at her mortal calamities mock. 
^t * * * * m 

Who do you suppose 

Ever pitied a man for blowing hia uo*a ? 
Yet, what minor trial could ever be worse — 
Unless it be reading this blundering verse. 

Never fit to be written, or read : 

No — nor said, 
Except by a man — witJi a cold in his head ! ^ 



THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 223 

Among the long list of cases in the Materia Medica, here is 
a new and fatal one. During the prevalence of the cholera in 
Ireland, a soldier, hurrying into the mess-room, told his com- 
manding officer that his brother had been carried off, two days 
ago, by a fatal malady, expressing his apprehensions that the 
whole regiment would be exposed to a similar danger, in the 
course of the following week. " Good heavens ! " ejaculated 
the officer, "what, then, did he die of? " " Why, your honor, 
he died of a Tuesday." Another extraordinary case, chroni- 
cled by Punchy was that of a voracious individual who bolted 
a door, and threw up a window ! 

Many of the phenomena presented by disease are exceeding- 
ly curious, and even romantic. The disease, commonly known 
as St. Yitus' dance (chorea), presents some remarkable pheno- 
mena. The patient becomes a merry Andrew, and twists the 
face into all kinds of ridiculous forms. A case is mentioned 
in which a young woman would dance on one leg and hold the 
other in her hand. When a drum sounded a kind of air, she 
would dance up to the drum and continue dancing till out of 
breath. Another would leap, exactly as a fish might do, from 
the top of a wardrobe five feet high. Another patient, a little 
girl, would twirl round on her feet like a top. And yet an- 
other would walk backwards, thereby receiving many falls 
and bruises. " Such histories," says Sir Thomas Watson, 
" would sound very like romances, if they were met with in the 
old authors alone, or if they were not attested by unimpeach- 
able authority." Such diseases are morbid affections of the 
nerves, and are well called " the dark corners of pathology." 
The whole subject of the influence of the nervous system on 
the organic functions is replete with curious memorabilia. 

Dr. Brown, of Edinburgh, author of the " Ilorce Suhsecivce,^^ 
informs us, that " many years ago a countryman called on a 
physician in New York. He was in the depth of dyspeptic 



224 THE MYSTERIES OF JtEDICINE. 

despair. The doctor gave him some plain advice as to his food, 
and ended by wiiting a prescription for some tonic, saying, 
' Take that and come back in a fortnight.' In ten days Giles 
came in, blooming and happy, quite well. The doctor was 
delighted, and not a little prou'^ of his skill. He asked to see 
what he had given him. Giles said he hadn't got it. ' Where 
was it ? ' 'I took it, sir.' ' Took it ! What have you done 
with the prescription ? ' 'I ate it, sir. You told me to take 
it.'" 

It is curious that a doctor cannot always be trusted with the 
diagnosis and prognosis of his own case. The great Dr. Baillie 
seems to have been a case of this kind. He is said to have 
died of consumption, and yet to have denied that he was con- 
sumptive. He did not experience any difficult}'^ in breathing, 
and argued that, while his breathing was good, his lungs could 
not be bad. But no medical man now takes this as decisive. 
Nature, in her bounty, provides a larger space of lung than is 
necessary, and will long go on with a very small amount of 
lung, and with very little difficulty in breathing. Another 
noteworthy case of lung disease is a very different person, the 
notorious empiric, St. John Long. He professed to cure con- 
sumption, but in reality, like other similar quacks, he only 
cured cases of cough and bronchitis with symptoms imitative 
of those in phthisis. He unquestionably caused death in sev- 
eral instances by a treatment which would be perfectly harm- 
less in some cases, but which was fatal to many delicate 
women. He was himself struck down by consumption, and 
died at the early age of thirty-seven. One of our most promis- 
ing doctors in chest complaints. Dr. Hope, who, at an early 
age, had reached almost the summit of his profession, was 
prematurely cut off by consumption. 

Medicine has often very startling surprises in store, which 
are frequently gloomy enough, though sometimes of a pleasant 



THE JilYSTERIES OF JIEDICtXE. 225 

nature. "We will, in the first place, select some of the former. 
A clergyman in the neighborhood of Mount Edgecumbe was 
one day walking very fast, when he was met by his doctor. 
He explained, in conversation-'vthat he was suffering fi-om pains 
of indigestion, and was in the habit of taking long walks in 
order to get rid of them. The medical man insisted on 
examining him, and then explained to him that he was in fact 
suffering from aneurism of the heart, and that these long walks 
were the worst things possible for him ; and was obliged to add 
that the disease would some day prove suddenly fatal. The 
statement was sadly verified. He died suddenly while preach- 
ing in church. A young nobleman in the country' was danger- 
ously ill with a fever. Physicians were summoned from differ- 
ent quarters, and the bishop relates that no less a sum than 
seven hundred guineas was paid to them as fees. All the 
means used were unavailing, and the patient sank rapidly. 
When he was quite given over, and left alone to die, he was 
heard to murmur a request for beer. A large goblet, contain- 
ing nearly a quart of small beer, was handed to him, which he 
drained at a draught, and then drank again. He recovered. 

Burney, in his History of Music, refers to the case of a lady 
who could hear only while a drum loas heating / insomuch 
that her husband actually hired a drummer, as a servant, in 
order to enjoy the pleasure of her conversation. A certain 
Frenchman, Yigueul de Marville, insists that musical sounds 
contribute to the health of the body and the mind, assist the 
circulation of the blood, dissipate vapors, and open the vessels, 
so that the action of perspiration is freer. He tells a story of 
a person of distinction, who assured him, that once, being sud- 
denly seized by violent illness, instead of a consultation of phy- 
sicians, he immediately called a band of musicians, and theii 
violins played so well in his inside, " that his viscera became 
perfectly in tune, and in a few hours were completely be- 
15 



226 THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 

calmed." Naturalists assert that animals are sensible to the 
charms of the divine art ; why not the biped, man ? The well- 
known line will occur to the reader, 

" Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast ; " 

and the great dramatist predicates moral delinquency where 
the effect of its dulcet influence is not acknowledged — 

" The man that hath no nausic in himself, 
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils." 

A little plaintive, soothing melody after djnner has long 
been resorted to as an auxiliary to the digestive process ; the 
effect is to induce a temporary state of mental quiescence and 
repose, while it confers all the advantages of sleep with none 
of its disadvantages. It is "putting the soul in tune," as Milton 
expresses it, for any subsequent exertion. 

We have an instance on record of David in his youth, with 
his harp, striving by the aid of music to cure the mental de- 
rangement of Saul ; a method of cure in those early times 
which seems to have been commonly resorted to. Many of the 
classic writers allude to the practice ; some even proposing it 
as a certain remedy for a dislocated limb, the gout, or even the 
bite of a viper. The medicinal properties of music were mani- 
fold and marvellous. For example : a fever was removed by a 
song ; deafness, by a trumpet ; and the pestilence chased away 
by the harmonious lyre ! That deaf people can hear best in a 
great noise, is a fact alleged by some moderns in favor of the 
ancient mode of removing deafness by the trumpet. 

Medical lore would not probably have been so far behind the 
other sciences, had its professors but husbanded, in a collect- 
ive form, the experience of the past, as has been the case in 
most of the other sciences. To begin with Galen, as a starting 



THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 227 

point, it will be sufficient to remark, that lie reprobated such 
prescriptions as were composed of any portions of the human 
body ; and he severely condemned Xenocrates for having in- 
troduced them, as being worse than useless, as well as positive- 
ly unjustifiable. Yet these abominable ingredients continued 
in use till, what may be styled, the reformation of medicine, 
in the seventeenth century. Human bones were administered 
internally as a cure for ulcers, and tha bones were to be those 
of the part affected. 

The mummery of medicine, with all its cabalistic and 
unintelligible mysticisms, formed a part of the age which 
sanctioned such buffoonery. The state of medicine may be 
considered as the criterion or barometer of the state of morals, 
as well as science, in a nation. This is evidenced by the igno- 
rance and degradation of Europe so late, even as the tenth 
century, when there was scarcely a physician in Spain. 

Great was Diana of the Ephesians, and we follow suit, for, 
great are we in our credulity, great in our manifold sufferings, 
great in our multitudinous quacks, great in the princely for- 
tunes we bestow npon those vampires who batten upon disease 
and sorrow. Take up the fii'st newspaper that comes to hand ; 
look over the advertisements entitled Medical ; is there not a 
panacea for every disability — consumption, dyspepsia, in short, 
everything that can make up the total of human wretchedness 
or human infirmity? How wonderful that death is still the 
great iconoclast, in spite of potions, ointments, and drops ; in 
spite of pills that are infallible, in spite of philanthropists who 
profess to eradicate all the " ills that flesh is heir to," and others 
that never existed. 

Yet, after all the empiricism that belongs to medicine, or 
that is too often associated with it, there is yet very much in it 
that demands our respect. It is no evidence to the contrary, 
moreover, that the best practitioners give to their patients the 



228 THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 

least medicine. Many persons say tliey do not believe in medi- ' 
cine, yet, like sceptics in religion, they usually are eager enough 
to seek the aid they can render, in the sick or dying hour. To 
speak with precision, medicine is an art that involves the ap- 
plication of many sciences ; and while it is true that the physi- 
cian may be, or ought to be, master of the situation, when he 
prescribes for his patient ; that is no reason for paying to him 
a blind superstitious reverence, as if he were supernaturally 
endowed. 

If Hippocrates be regarded as the father of physic, science 
was then in its infancy, and it is to the collective wisdom and 
experience of his successors that it owes all its present glory 
and renown. 

In justice to the many illustrious benefactors of their age, 
we must not forget that, although the profession has been dis- 
graced by empirics and quacks, a host of great names have 
ennobled it by their virtues, their brilliant attainments and 
services, as well as their self-denial. Such men have been 
indeed blessings to their age, and to the world at large; and 
the fragrant memory of their benevolence and skill, would, of 
course, go far to redeem the profession they ennobled, from the 
rebuke of charlatanism. It is to such men as Harvey, Garth, 
Radcliffe, Meade, Askew, Pitcairn, Baillie, Cullen, Freind,. 
Linacre, Cains, Hunter, Denman, Velpeau, Liston, Mott, and 
Brocklesby, the friend of Johnson, with many others of refined 
literary attainments, that it owes much of its glory. 

Pope, a few days prior to his decease, records the following- 
high testimony to the urbanity and courtesy of his medical 
friends, — "There is no end of my kind treatment from the 
Faculty ; they are in general the most amiable companions^ 
and the best friends, as well as the most learned men I know." 
And Dryden, in the postscript to his translation of Yirgil, 
speaks in a similar way of the profession. "That I have 



THE JfYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 229 

recovered," says he, " in some measure the health which I had 
lost by too much application to this work, is owing, next to 
God's mercy, to the skill and care of Dr. Guibbons and Dr. 
Ilobbs, the two ornaments of their profession, whom I can only 
pay by this acknowledgment." 

The healino; art is not without its heroes also. Madame de 
Geulis relates the story of one who, to save his native city from 
the ravages of the plague, voluntarily surrendered himself a 
sacrifice. The incident is as follows : " The plague raged vio- 
lently in Marseilles. Every link of affection was broken ; the 
father turned from the child, the child from the father ; ingra- 
titude no longer excited indignation. Misery is at its height 
%vhen it thus destroys every generous feeling, thus dissolves 
every tie of humanity ! The city became a desert, grass grew 
in the streets, a funeral met you at Qvery step. The physicians 
assembled in a body at the Hotel de Ville, to hold a consulta- 
tion on the fearful disease, for which no remedy had yet been 
discovered. After a long deliberation, they decided unani- 
mously that the malady had a peculiar and mysterious charac- 
ter, which opening a corpse alone might develop — an operation 
it was impossible to attempt, since the operator must infallibly 
become a victim in a few hours, beyond the power of human 
art to save him, as the violence of the attack would preclude 
their administering the customary remedies. A dead pause 
succeeded this fatal declaration. Suddenly a surgeon named 
Guyon, in the prime of life, and of great celebrity in his pro- 
fession, rose, and said firmly, ' Be it so : I devote myself for 
the safety of my country. Before this numerous assembly I 
swear, in the name of humanity and religion, that to-morrow, 
at the break of day, I will dissect a corpse, and write down as I 
proceed what I observe.' " 

He took with him his instruments, and locking himself up in 
the room with a dead victim of the disease he finished the 



230 THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 

dreadful operation, recording in detail liis surgical observa- 
tions ; he threw the papers into a vase of vinegar, and then 
sought the lazaretto, where within twelve hours he expired. 
Noble hero ! he sacrificed his own life for that of his country ! 

A word or two regarding the modern systems of Ilomceo- 
pathy and Hydropathy, both which are, as might have been 
anticipated, obnoxious to the advocates of the old system of 
Allopathy. The Hahnemannian theory, however, now num- 
bers among its supporters many intelligent and philosophic 
minds, although the infinitesimal reduction of its doses to the 
millionth, billionth, and trillionth part of a grain, is more than 
enough to stagger the belief of those who have been accus- 
tomed to solutions by the pailful, and powders in any quantity. 

The principle of the Homoeopathists is founded in truth and 
reason, but its administrators require to be well skilled in its 
doctrines, as their remedial agents include many of the most 
subtle and powerful poisons. We are for Ilomceopathy on 
account of its modest inflictions upon the poor, affiicted patient, 
who, in appealing to the old system, has often as much to 
abide in his shattered corporeity from the attacks of the cura- 
tive process, as from the original disease. The logic of the 
following may be questioned, but it is, of course, intended as a 
sarcasm : 

" The Homoeopathic system, sir, just suits me to a tittle, 
It clearly proves of physic you caimot take too little ; 
If it be good in aU complaiats to take a dose so small. 
It surely must be better stiU, to take no dose at aU." 

There is only one suggestion we have to offer in this con- 
nection — it is this : ought not the Homoeopathic practitioners to 
regulate their fees in the ratio of their doses? The cold-water 
system is rapidly extending its popularity among us. Of 
mesmerism, and its application to nervous and neuralgic 
diseases, we shall not pause to notice. The advantages oi 



THE IVIYSTERIES OF MEDICESTE. 231 

chloroform have been so fully discussed by everybody, that 
we shall simply give the reader a taste of one of these exposi- 
tions in a kind of mock heroic verse, cut from an English 
paper : 

" Take but a snuff at this essence an^sthetical, 
Dropp'd upon a handkerchief, or bit of sponge, 
And on your eyelids 'twill clap a seal hermetical, 
And your senses in a trance that instant plunge, 

" Then you may be pinch'd and punctured, bump'd and thump'd and 
whack'd about, 
Scotch'd, and scored, and lacerated, cauterized, and hacked about ; 
And though tender as a chick — a Sybarite for queasiness — 
Flay'd alive, unconscious of a feeling of uneasiness. 

" Celsus will witness our deft chirurgeons presently. 
Manage operations as he said they should ; 
Doiag them safely, speedily, and pleasantly, 
Just as if the body were a log of wood. 

' ' Teeth, instead of being drawn with agonies immeasurable, 
Now wOl be extracted with sensations rather pleasurable, 
Chloroform will render quite agreeable the parting with 
Any useless member the patient has been smarting with." 

An instance of the disadvantages of this anaesthetical agent 
is seen in the following incident however, which occurred at 
Taunton Hospital, where, as a patient was undergoing amputa- 
tion of a limb while under the influence of chloroform, the 
nurse let fall the bottle containing the gas, which quickly 
spread its somniferous effects over the operators, and some 
time elapsed before they recovered from their partial insensi- 
bility. 

There are several distinct varieties among the medical pro- 
fession ; as the following : First, the silent doctor, who is 
evidently a lover of creature comforts, and whose taciturn, 
dignified, and mysterious deportment passes current with the 
unsuspecting, for profound wisdom. He ingeniously manages 



232 THE MYSTERIES OF IVDEDICINB. 

to secure the greatest number of patients with the fewest 
possible words. "The silent doctor is a great favorite with 
the fair sex ; they regard him as Coleridge did his quondam 
acquaintance of dumpling celebrity, and think that as stillest 
streams are ofttimes the deepest, so there must be something 
intensely fascinating in the said doctor, if it only could be dis- 
covered. Everybody knows, too, how each individual woman 
believes herself endowed by nature with peculiar faculties for 
discovering the occult, for unravelling the mysterious ; and 
who more mysterious than the silent doctor ? 

" But, leaving him now in their safe keeping, our next illus- 
tration shall be of the sceptical doctor. Though confessedly 
against his interest, he is very slow to believe that anything is 
the matter with anybody. If people are resolved to be 
quacked, he finds a bread-pill, to be taken four times a day — 
a safe and wholesome remedy. Still, though mortally averse 
to old women and nervous invalids, when there is real suffer- 
ing, the sceptical doctor feels keenly, all the more, perhaps, 
from his efforts to conceal it. 

" Of all others, perhaps, the most provoking is the talkative 
doctor. Well versed in almost every subject, fond of litera- 
ture, of politics, and of science, it is difficult to keep him to 
the point, and obtain any definite opinion or practical advice 
from him. Quite forgetful that you are in actual pain, or 
grievous discomforture, a single hint or remote allusion is 
suflacient to draw forth a learned discussion on ancient or 
mediaeval art, or the marbles of Nineveh." 

Then, there is another type, which may be styled the mor- 
bid doctor, who is ever looking at the dark side of a case, and 
whose visage is long and lugubrious. A vision of such an 
impersonation of the dismal, is of itself sufficient to shock the 
nerves of a patient and aggravate his disease, of whatsoever 
nature it may be. 



THE IHYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 233 

So mucli, then, for our pleasantries with the gentlemen of 
the curative art. 

Let us look, for a moment, at that troublesome personage, 
whose oft-dilapidated condition makes such onerous demands 
upon the doctor's skill. Physiologists assert that this " paragon 
of animals" is physically a machine — a steam-engine — his 
brain the engine, his lungs the boiler, his viscera the furnace. 
That he glides along the track of life, often at the fearful 
speed of sixty or seventy pulsations in a minute, never stop- 
ping, so long as the machine is in working order. He has 
-also been compared to a steamship, a chemical laboratory, a 
distillery, a forcing-pump, a grist-mill, a furnace, an electric 
telegraph. 

Man has the power of imitating almost every motion but 
that of flight. To effect these he has, in maturity and health, 
60 bones in his head, 60 in his thighs and legs, 62 in his arms 
and hands, and 67 in the trunk. He has also 434 muscles. 
His heart makes 60 pulsations in a minute. There are also 
three complete circulations of the blood, in the short space of 
an hour. Who thinks he carries so much about with him ? 

Whittier observes : " It is the special vocation of the doctor 
to grow familiar with suffering — to look upon humanity dis- 
robed of its pride and glory — robbed of all its fictitious 
ornaments — weak, hopeless, naked — and undergoing the last 
fearful metempsychosis, from its erect and god-like image, the 
living temple of an enshrined divinity, to the loathsome clod 
and the inanimate dust ! Of what ghastly secrets of moral and 
physical disease is he the depository ! " "With what a sanctity, 
therefore, is the character of the true physician invested. 

It has been well said, that the theory and practice of 
medicine is the noblest and most difficult science in the world ; 
and that there is no other art for the practice of which tho 
most thorough education is so essential. 



234 THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 

Add to this the society of all kinds into whicli the medical 
man is thrown, the knowledge of human nature he acquires 
thereby, the many beautiful traits of domestic affection and 
woman's love, which pass daily before him, the gratitude of 
some hearts, the cordial fi*iendship of others, the respect to be 
attained from all — and it will scarcely be denied that the prac- 
tice of medicine is one of the most interesting and delightful^ 
as well as responsible, of all professions. 

In fine, since there is a sacredness in the trust confided to 
the professor of the healing art, a corresponding fidelity to its 
claims and responsibilities is indispensably requisite ; and, 
consequently, he who is recklessly indifferent to these, is guilty 
of the highest style of crime, in a wanton betrayal of the faith 
reposed in him. This would exclude quacks. 

Our own age has made several remarkable discoveries in 
medical science. Look at the grand discovery of chloroform, 
which has saved thousands of hours of helpless agony. There 
is no tale of daring- and discovery more remarkable than the 
narrative of the hours which Professor Simpson, and his friends 
in Edinburgh, spent in testing various narcotic agencies, until 
they became first exhilarated and then insensible, while testing 
chloroform, and awoke to the conviction that they had now 
become acquainted with the most powerful anaesthetic known 
or conceived. The discovery of cod-liver oil has been a boon 
of the most inestimable kind. Dr. Williams states that in a 
certain time he prescribed it in eleven thousand cases, and in 
ninety-five per cent with beneficial results. It is now known 
that consumption is curable in its earlier stages. The average 
length of consumptive cases, which used to be two years, is 
now prolonged to five years. Even where medicine cannot 
heal, it obtains one of its greatest triumphs in palliating a 
disorder. There never was a time in the history of medicine 



THE MYSTERIES OF MEDICINE. 235 

when its soothing and alleviating side was so assiduously and 
successfully cultivated, as at the present day. 

Then the knowledge of the human frame daily grows more 
extensive and exact. Look at Laennec's wonderful discovery 
of the stethoscope. It is now known that of the three organs 
which make the tripod of life, brain, lungs, and heart (accord- 
ing to Bichat's theory, now generally received, death always 
issues from one of these three avenues), diseases of the heart, 
which were once thought exceedingly rare, are the most com- 
mon, and probably the least hurtful. It is half the battle 
with disease to know accurately what is really the matter with 
the patient. Harvey had heard the healthy sounds of the 
heart ; but its morbid sounds inform us now of the nature of 
its structural defects. The sounds of breathing must, count- 
less times ere this, have met the ear ; but it was reserved for 
our own days, to study them so often as to enable every tyro 
to say what is the state of those great organs, hidden from our 
view, but so indispensable to life. And so with percussion. 
Nay, with our eyes we can now behold, for the first time in its 
living acts, that marvellous mechanism in its most exquisite 
and joy-inspiring movements, as well as when it is oppressed 
by disease, which stands as a sentinel at the orifice of the air- 
passages, and on which the voice and speech primarily depend. 
Thus much, then, about the mission of medicine and its 
administrators — the doctors. When we do indulge a little in- 
trospection, and observe what a marvellous piece of mechanism 
the " house we live in " is, we ought to be grateful for what- 
ever aid the wit and skill of the doctor may afford, rather than 
ridicule his vocation. When we look abroad, and see the surg- 
ing multitudes that crowd th& streets and lanes of our cities, 
and remember, that, notwithstanding their gay and flaunting 
attire and healthy look, that ere to-morrow, or to-morrow- week, 
many may be summoned to a sick room, the victims of disease, 



236 



THE IVIYSTERIES OF JIEDICINE. 



we shall learn the better to prize the province of the kindly 
physician. 

' ' This is the way physicians mend — or end us, 
Secundum artem — but although -we sneer, 
In health — we call them to attend us. 
Without the least propensity to jeer." 

Byron hits it exactly — when in health, we throw physic to 
the dogs, and laugh at the doctor ; bnt, when we are pros- 
trated by disease, when " sickness sits caverned in the hollow 
eye," we are glad enough to seek his aid, and remunerate him, 
as far as we can, for it. Some, after having passed under the 
recuperative process, are ungrateful enough to forget the 
doctor's fee. 





TALK ABOUT TREES. 



What more sublime and spirit-stirring than to " thread the 
mazy grove," to wander beneath the thick overhanging 
foliage, penetrating into its embowered recesses ? The impos- 
ing grandeur of the scene impresses us with a religious awe, 
and we bow reverently before these visible tokens of the 
Creator's beneficence and power, as seen in myriad forms of 
vernal beauty. From the creeping ivy, that clings with fond 
tenacity to the crumbling ruin, as if to rescue it from the de- 
stroying touch of Time, to the stately '• kings of the forest," 
in their leafy grandeur, what a world of wonders is encircled, 
inviting our astonished gaze. With what infinite variety of 
beauty is the broad realm of nature decked — what an endless 
succession of delicate forms do we discover in the spiral grass, 
the genera of plants, and the ever- varying foliage of trees. 

The Elm, with its rich pendulous branches, the sturdy oak, 
the maple, " clad in scarlet and gold," the lioary poplar, the 
*' tulip-tree," with its brilliant, glossy leaves and blossoms, and 



238 TALK ABOUT TREES. 

many others, with whose generous shade, graceful outline, and 
exceeding beauty, we all are familiar. As majestic forms of 
beauty, which none can contemplate, without having the finer 
sensibilities of their nature brought into exercise, trees may 
well be regarded with grateful love, if not with a feeling of 
veneration. Not only did they form the luxurious arbors of 
repose in Eden, they constituted also the arched and leafy 
temples of the first worshippers. " The groves were God's first 
temples." 

The oratories of the Jews were beneath the shadow of olive 
trees. 

The ancient Druids of Gaul, Britain, and Germany were ac- 
customed to perform their mystic rites and sacrifices in the re- 
cesses of the forest ; and our Pilgrim Fathers worshipped God 
under a like canopy. 

" Do not trees talk — have they not leafy lungs — do they not, 
at sunrise, when the wind is low, and when the birds are carolling 
their songs, play sweet music ? Who has ever heard the soft 
whisper of the green leaves in spring time, on a sunny morn- 
ing, that did not feel as though rainbow gleams of kindness 
were running through his heart ? — and then, when the morn- 
ing-glory, like a nun before the shrine of God, discloses her 
beautiful face, — and the moss-roses open their crimson lips, 
sparkling with the nectar that falls fi'om heaven, who does not 
bless his Maker? — and when autumn comes, the season of 
' the sere and yellow leaf,' — when the wheat is in its golden 
prime, and the corn waves like silken tassels in the charmed 
air, is not minded of the reaper — Death ? " * 

Forests have been by a poetic fancy styled " Nature's no- 
blest- sanctuaries." The over-arching branches of trees first 
suggested to the skill of the sculptor the delicate fret-work, 

* De Vere. 



TALK ABOUT TREES. 239 

and arborescent decorations of our ecclesiastical architecture. 
The leafy column, nave and transept of our grand old cathe- 
drals, were but the imitations of art, drawn fi*om the leafy soli- 
tudes of Nature. The trees of the field and forests, are replete 
with poetic, historic, and sacred associations : the voice of 
prayer and psalm has oft ascended to Heaven, from beneath 
their leafy recesses ; and the welkin has also resounded with 
the clash of arms and the wail of sori-ow beneath their shade. 
How largely, too, have the classic poets, like Euripides, been 
indebted to the inspiration of the sylvan groves of Greece, for 
their themes. 

The idea, which some amateur naturalists seem to advance, 
that trees and flowers have intelligence, is not new to poetry, 
though not accepted by science. Ovid in his Metamorphoses^ 
and other writers of the classic mythology, hold to it. 

Few objects in nature are capable of exciting in us emotions 
more deep and impressive than a majestic tree. If trees, in- 
deed, had tongues to tell us what they have witnessed, how 
many a legend of thrilling interest, of patient suffering, heroic 
achievement, or of deadly strife, might they not rehearse to us ! 
But theirs is a silent eloquence, and like the music of the 
spheres, potent and persuasive only to those whose inner ear is 
attent to their voices. How royally do those patriarchal kings 
of the forest rear their leaf -crowned heads ; and how sweetly 
amidst their foliage do the feathered songsters charm the syl- 
van solitudes with their minstrelsy ; while Flora, with a lavish 
prodigality, scatters her festive glories alike o'er meadow, 
copse, hill-side, forest, and field. 

" Hail, old patrician trees, so great and good I 
Hail, ye plebeian underwood I 
Where the poetic birds rejoice, 
And for their quiet nests and plenteous food, 
Pay with their grateful voice ! " * 

* Cowley. 



240 TALK ABOUT TREES. 

The mention of ancestral trees suggests to us those grand old 
Cedars of Lebanon, with their histories reaching adown the 
centuries as some conjecture, even to the age of Solomon, and 
the august and matchless Temple of Jerusalem. The Eastern 
poets say, "the cedar bears winter in its head, spring on its 
shoulders, and autumn on its bosom, while summer sleeps at its 
feet." 

There is a beautiful legend of the " Tree of Life," which, in 
the words of John Evelyn^ reads thus : " Trees and woods have 
twice saved the whole world, — first by the ark, then by the 
Cross; making full amends for the evil fruit of the tree in 
Paradise, by that which was borne on the tree at Golgotha ! " 

The palm, once so prolific in Palestine, but now scarcely to 
be seen there, is frequently referred to in the Sacred Scrip- 
tures, historically and allegorically. Palms have been styled 
" Princes of the Vegetable Kingdom," from the fact that they 
are the most valuable of all ; every portion — the bark, fruit, 
leaf, and wood, being available for use. The Palm-tree most 
abounds in Persia, Syria, Arabia, and the Delta of Egypt, — 
lands that do not 3'ield much corn. This was regarded as the 
traditional tree, whose branches sweetened the bitter waters of 
Marah, as furnishing the festal boughs of the Feast of Taber- 
nacles, and, as also giving its name to Jericho — the " City of 
Palms." The Palm became to tlie Jews, and also the Greeks 
and Pomans, the emblem of Yictory : and it will be remem- 
bered that our Saviour's entry into Jerusalem was greeted with 
branches of this tree. 

The Olive has also its historic associations, sacred and pro- 
fane. Noah's dove bore an olive leaf ; the Israelites held it in 
reverence ; and its wood formed the material of the door-posts 
of the Temple ; while from the Olive also were carved the 
Cherubins of the Oracle. Among the sacred mountains of Pales- 



TALK ABOUT TREES. 241 

tine was the ever memorable Mount of Olives. As a Chris- 
tian symbol, the olive branch indicates peace. 

The Holly, — with which at Christmas tide we are accus- 
tomed to deck our churches, — was to the ancient races of 
the North, a sign of the life which preserved nature through the 
desolations of winter. Southey's well-known lines on the 
Holly suggest themselves here : 

" 0, reader ! hast thou ever stood to see the Holly tree ? 
The eye that contemplates it well, perceives its glossy leaves, 
Ordered by an Intelligence so wise, 
As might confound the atheist's sophistries. " 

Then there is Chaucer's oak, so called from the tradition 
that it was planted by the hand of the pioneer-poet of England ; 
it yet stands in Dennington Park, England, for aught we know 
to the contrary. The oak in the Kew Forest, against which 
Tyrrell's arrow glanced before it killed William Rufus, which 
was standing until a century since, has, like the Royal Oak, at 
Boscobel House, which screened the fugitive King Charles II., 
disappeared. Wallace's oak, at Torwood, Stirlingshire, under 
which the hero is believed to have convened and addressed his 
followers, is still extant. The Charter-oak at Hartford, Con- 
necticut, believed to have been six hundred years old when 
the Commonwealth was founded, was so called because in it 
was concealed the British charter of Governor Andros, in 1687. 
It fell about a dozen years ago. Another memorable oak 
was that which stood until 1857, on the bank of the Genesee 
river, 'New York ; it was pre-historic ; beneath its wide-spread 
branches, doubtless, many an Indian war-council was held, for 
its age has been computed at not less than five centuries. At 
Allonville, in N"ormandy, we are told there is, or was, an aged 
oak, the trunk of which was so large as to admit of being fitted 
up as a place of worship. At Kidlington, England, we read 
of an enormous, hollow oak, which seiwed for a time as the 
16 



242 TALK ABOUT TREES. 

village prison, — from which we may infer that the criminal 
calendar of that quiet hamlet of Oxfordshire, could not have 
been excessively crowded. If, as tradition says, King John 
once held his parliament under the great Torworth chestnut, in 
Gloucestershire, he might have done the same with greater 
facility under the then, and still existing grand old trees near 
Datchett, Windsor, adjoining what is known as his " hunting 
lodge," 

Another giant oak is on record, known as Damory's, in Dor- 
setshire, of which the circumference is stated at sixty-eight feet 
the cavity of the trunk being sixteen feet wide and twenty 
feet high. It was fitted up for what do you suppose ? — an ale- 
house, and used as such during the Commonwealth. The re- 
markable chestnut, on Mount Etna, known as the " Tree of one 
hundred horses," which has been supposed, from its immense 
proportions, to be five trees united, has been since ascertained 
to spring from one root, although it is said to measure two 
hundred feet in circumference. There is one other legendary 
tree that deserves mention, — that majestic old Pine, which, 
until quite recently, stood near Fort Edward, on the Hudson ; 
for it witnessed the sad fate of the beautiful but hapless Jane 
McCrea, who, when captured by the Indians, in 1777, lost her 
life by the very bullet intended for her savage and relentless 
captors. lS"o one is likely to forget the " rugged elms " and 
" yew-trees' shade," beneath which repose the ashes of Gray ; 
or the neighboring " beeches," under whose leafy branches the 
" Elegy" was born, or indeed the thick grove of overhanging 
elms that embosom the " ivy-mantled tower " of Upton church. 
Nor ought we to forget that noble old elm, known as "Washing- 
ton's elm, since beneath its outstretched arms, the General first 
stepped forward to his officers and assumed the command of 
the American forces. 

There is, or was, until recently, a famous yew-tree near 



TALK ABOUT TREES. 243 

Staines, England, which stood prior to the meeting of the 
Barons at Runny mede, when King John was compelled to grant 
the Magna Charta. 

Shakspeare, Milton, and Pope, have each their memorial 
trees ; the two former, — Mulberry trees, and the latter the 
Willow. Pope's " weeping willow " sprang from a small twig 
which the poet received from his friend Lady Montague, at 
Smyrna, and which he planted near his villa at Twickenham. 
This tree, which was felled in 1801, was the progenitor of its 
race in Great Britain, and the United States ; a British officer 
during the war of the Revolution, having brought over a twig 
from the tree at Twickenham, which he presented to Mr. Cus- 
tis, who planted it in his grounds at Abingdon, Virginia, where 
it took root and flourished, and from which twigs were often 
transplanted. 

On her return from France, Mary Queen of Scots brought 
over with her a little Sycamore tree, which she planted in the 
gardens of Holyrood ; and from this source, it is said, have 
sprung the beautiful groves of sycamores now to be seen in 
Scotland. We might refer to multitudes of other interesting 
instances ; for example the Holly with its sacred allegoric as- 
sociations ; and many other notable objects in the grounds at 
Blenheim, Woburn Abbey, Wotton, Kew Gardens, Hampton 
Court, Kensington, and Chiswick Botanical Gardens, so rich in 
exotics from all parts of the globe, — not to speak of the superb 
grounds at Crystal Palace, Yersailles, St. Cloud, and other 
notable places. 

The Dragon-tree of Orotava is described as about seventy- 
five feet in height and sixteen in circumference at the base. 
All travellers to Teneriffe visit this gigantic lily. Tradition 
affirms that it was an object of veneration with the native 
Guanchos, as the olive and the elm of Ephesus, were to the 
ancient Greeks. 



244 TALK ABOUT TREES. 

The bark of trees, which is essentially fibrous and cellular 
tissue, presents a great diversit}' of appearance. This bark 
consists of a succession of annular layers, which are covered 
with a thin cuticle or skin. We can only refer to the cork- 
tree. This beautiful tree, which is a species of oak, and fur- 
nishes to us one of the most useful commercial products, ac- 
quires an extraordinary thickness of layer, known as cork. 
This mass of cork attains by degrees to a considerable thick- 
ness ; and if not removed, would crack so deeply, as to become 
unfit for use to which it is devoted. This tree is peculiar to 
hot climates. Algeria possesses several forests of the cork tree, 
in course of working. Spain has long been celebrated for its 
produce. The crops of cork are generally gathered once 
every eight years. The banyan-tree is considered one of the 
most remarkable natural phenomena in India, each tree being 
in itself a grove, and in some instances of prodigious dimen- 
sions ; while this self-augmenting tree seems to bid defiance 
to decay. This tree is worshipped by the Hindoos. Humboldt 
refers to a magnificent specimen of the banyan, the large trunks 
of which number three hundred and fifty, the smaller ones 
amounting to about five thousand ; " each of these," he states, 
"is constantly sending forth branches and hanging roots to 
form other trunks." Seven thousand persons are said to find 
ample room to repose under its shade. 

Among the arborescent marvels of nature, may be mentioned 
the Baobab tree of tropical Africa, referred to by Livingstone. 
Its trunk does not exceed fifteen or eighteen feet in height, 
but its girth is enormous, attaining, as it sometimes does, the 
circumference of thirty to forty feet. This trunk separates at 
the summit into branches fifty to sixty feet long, which bend 
toward the earth at their extremities ; which, seen at a dis- 
tance, presents the appearance of a huge dome, or ball, of ver- 
dure, over a circuit of a hundred and sixty feet ! Its flowers 



TALK ABOUT TREES. 245 

are proportioned to its gigantic trunk, — often measuring five 
by eight inches. The Baobab abounds most in Senegal, where 
it was first discovered. There is a singular use made of the 
trunk of this tree, when hollow, by the negroes ; when any of 
their Guerrots, or musicians and poets die, they bury them 
within the trunk, and close it up with a plank ; for these su- 
perstitious people imagine that if they were to bury their 
sorcerers, as they consider them^ in the earth, they would draw 
down upon themselves the Celestial malediction. There is 
something poetic in this custom of a barbarous people, which 
leads them to bury their poets between heaven and earth, in the 
side of the vegetable king. 

The picturesque scenery of San Joaquin and Tulare valleys 
is on a scale of grandeur surpassing that of Switzerland. 
Throughout this Alpine region hundreds of lofty peaks rise one 
above another, the highest reaching an altitude of some 15,000 
feet above the water line. The Sierra Nevada mountain-range 
comprises above one hundred peaks over ten thousand feet 
high; and one. Mount Shasta, towers in solitary grandeur 7,000 
feet above everything in its vicinity, and some others are sup- 
posed even to exceed this in altitude. And this is not all ; im- 
agine an entire forest, extending as far as the eye can reach, of 
trees from eight to twelve feet in diameter, and from two hun- 
dred to three hundred feet high thickly grouped, their trunks 
marvellously straight with a dense canopy of branching foliage ; 
and you may obtain a faint idea of the magnificence of the 
great forests of California. 

As far as can be ascertained, the greatest of the mammoth 
trees of California are the following ; namely, one measuring 
twenty-seven feet in diameter, — its circumference having been, 
before it became partially burned at the base, nearly one hun- 
dred feet, and its height three hundred and thirty feet ! The 
other, in the Mariposa grove, known as the " grizzly giant," 



246 TALK ABOUT TREES. 

which is estimated at upwards of 500 years old, has a dia 
meter of thirty feet, and even some of its branches measure six 
feet in diameter. These Titanic trees liave been botanically 
named, Sequoia gigantea from Sequoya, a Cherokee chief who 
invented an Indian alphabet of characters, which the tribe and 
the missionaries adopted. These California trees are, it is be- 
lieved, only surpassed by an Australian species ; one of which 
Miiller, the Botanist, computed to measure four hundred feet 
in height. 

Of fruit trees, with which all are familiar, it is needless to 
speak; we may, however, refer to the date tree, wliich affords 
to many tribes of Upper Egypt, and to multitudes in other 
countries, almost their only sustenance. It is a remarkable in- 
stance of the design of Providence to render most parts of the 
earth habitable, that the date-palm abounds everywhere on the 
verge of the vast African desert, where no grain, and scarcely 
any other tree can grow. Linnaeus asserts that the region of 
palms was the first country of our race, and that man is essen- 
tially palmivorous. Burkhardt informs us that date trees often 
constitute the dowry of an eastern bride. The bread-fruit tree 
supplies the natives of the Polynesian isles, their principle ar- 
ticle of diet ; its fruit is as large as a melon, the eatable part 
white as snow, and when roasted has a sweet taste. The cocoa- 
nut tree supplies, as we all know, a pleasant kind of food with 
a milky fluid ; the plantain, or banana, is in the torrid zone 
what wheat and rice are to other regions. The maple and the 
beet root, alike supply a saccharine matter, which is used very 
generally ; and the birch tree yields, by incision, a copious 
supply of juice, which is made the basis of a light and agree- 
able wine. The beautiful Spanish chestnut tree, also bears a 
fruit upon which the people are said largely to subsist ; and 
we are well acquainted with the article, for when roasted it di- 
vides the choice with the hazel, the hickory, walnut, the Brazil, 



TALK ABOUT TREES. 247 

and other nuts. Not every buyer, or even seller of sago, knows 
it to be the heart of a tree, nor that it is used, in Asia for 
bread. When mature, which is about thirty years' growth, the 
branches show a yellowish meal ; the tree is then felled, and 
on splitting it the sago appears, resembling the pith of elder. 
The eatable sago is the meal parted from the filaments. 

The coffee plant, or tree, for it sometimes attains to eighteen 
feet in height, yields the well-known berry, from which we de- 
rive the delicious beverage, used at breakfast ; its counterpart, 
the tea plant, also possesses a world-wide fame, and forms the 
decoction so refreshing to the weary, and is such an indispen- 
sable accompaniment with the loquacious Johnsons and Pioz- 
zis of all countries. 

Thus it will be seen we stand indebted, not only for many 
internal comforts, but some external advantages also, to the 
scions of the forest ; and even when trees have served for util- 
ity, and graceful decoration to the cottage or the landscape, we 
cut them down for fuel, or convert them to a thousand other 
important uses, in the construction of ships, houses, and the 
numerous arts of life. 

New York City, till recently possessed a relic of olden 
time in its Stuyvesant pear-tree, which was planted by that 
notable Dutch Governor, in 1647, and bore fruit until a brief 
interval of its being cut down in 1860. The tree that inspired 
the pathetic appeal in its behalf, by George P. Morris, — 
" Woodman, spare that tree," stood on the spot now forming 
the corner of St. Paul's, on Church street, between Yesey and 
Fulton. 

' ' Woodman, forbear thy stroke ! cut not its earth-bound ties ; 

Ob, spare that aged oak, now towering to the skies ! 
When but an idle boy, I sought its grateful shade ; 

In all their gushing joy, here, too, my sisters played : 
My mother kissed me here, — my father pressed my hand, — 

Forgive this foolish tear, but let that old oak stand 1" 



248 



TALK ABOUT TREES. 



The great Elm on Boston Common is of unknown age. It 
was a great tree when Indian chiefs held council beneath its 
shadow. 

The American Elm is an historic tree. Under its shade 
many interesting scenes have transpired, among them the 
preaching of Whitefield. It was beneath the shade of a noble 
elm that William Penn made his celebrated treaty with the 
Ked Men of the forest, adjoining what is now Philadelphia, or 
more precisely on a spot now occupied by Kensington, 

At Trenton, New Jersey, is an interesting Willow tree, it 
having sprang from a twig brought from the tree that over- 
shadowed the tomb of Napoleon, at St. Helena. 

After all we have attempted in these desultory references, 
much more remains yet unnoticed concerning the marvels of 
nature, among her shrubs, herbs, plants, mosses, lichens, fungi, 
and the algae of the world of waters. 



i0^^ki^- 





THE MODERN MOLOCH. 



"What is here? 
Gold I gold, yellow, glittering, precious gold. 
Saint-seducing gold ! " Shakspear-i. 



' O, cursed love of gold ! when for thy sake 
The fool throws up his interest in both worlds." 



Young. 



The question proposed by little Paul, in Domhey and Son, 
is suggested by the caption of our chapter — " What's money ? " 
The reply of many would doubtless be the same as that re- 
turned to the young querist referred to — a mere mercantile 
one — namely, that it is currency, specie, and bank-notes, or 
gold, silver, and copper. But this did not suffice for little 
Paul ; he repeated his inquiry — " 1 mean what's money, after 
all ? " This is the question we propose to discuss in an illus- 



250 " THE MODEEN MOLOCH. 

trative way. First as to its material. Gold and silver, styled 
the precious metals — are both pure, ductile, and malleable, 
and unaffected by most conditions of atmosphere. They are 
of intrinsic and positive worth, and were therefore adopted as 
the standards of valne, to represent all commercial exchanges. 

According to the Parian Chronicle, a record of the third 
century before Christ, Phiedon, king of Argos, in order to 
facilitate commerce, stamped silver money in the island of 
^gina, B.C. 895. Money, as to its name, is derived from 
Juno Moneta, the Roman Temple where it was coined 260 b.c. 

The most ancient Jewish coins represented a jpo^ of manna, 
on one side, and AarorCs hlossom^ing rod on the other ; the 
inscription being in Samaritan. 

Jewish shekels were Is. 7<^. ; a talent was 3,000 shekels, or 
£342 3s. 9d sterling. 

The Egyptians did not coin till the accession of the Ptole- 
mies, nor the Jews till the age of the Maccabees; the most 
ancient known coins are the Macedonian, of the date of about 
500 years before Christ. 

Athelstan first established a uniform coin in England. The 
Egbert silver coins were shillings, thrimsas, pennies, halflhigs, 
and feorthlings. Gold coin was introduced by Edward III., 
in six-shilling pieces, nearly equal in size, but not in weight, to 
modern sovereigns. Nohles followed at 6s. ^d., and became 
the lawyer's fee. Edward lY. coined angels, with a figure of 
Michael and the Dragon. 

Money had its equivalent in salt in Abyssinia — a small sliell 
called cowry, in Hindostan — dried fish in Iceland — and wam- 
pum among the North American Indians. Nails were for- 
merly in use in Scotland, as we learn from Smith's Wealth of 
Nations. 

To lack money, it has been remarked, is to lack a passport 
or admission-ticket into the pleasant places of God's earth — to 



THE MODERN MOLOCH. 251 

much that is glorious and wonderful in nature, and nearly all 
that is rare, curious, and enchanting in art. 
Hood's lines suggest a little moralizing : 

"Gold! gold ! gold! gold! 
Bright and yellow, hard and cold, 
Molten, graven, hammered, rolled ; 
Heavy to get, and light to hold ; 
Hoarded, bartered, bought, and sold ; 
Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled ; 
Spumed by the young, but hugged by the old, 
To the very verge of the church-yard mould ; 
Price of many a crime \intold ; 
Gold ! gold ! gold ! gold ! " 

What has not man sacrificed upon the altar of Moloch ? his 
time, his health, his friendships, his reputation, his conscience, 
and even life itself, and all its great issues. E-ightly used, 
money is the procurer of the domestic comforts and luxuries, 
as well as the necessaries of life ; but when inordinately cher- 
ished and coveted, it becomes the bane of happiness and peace. 
In the affair of marriage, how much of disaster has it superin- 
duced — how much of infelicity entailed upon the domestic 
relations. Fuller wisely insists that it is much better to have 
your gold in the hand, than in the heart. A man's character 
is often indicated by his mode of using money. 

A vain man's motto is " win gold and wear it " — a generous 
man's " win gold and share it " — a miser's, " win gold and 
spare it " — a profligate's, "win gold and spend it" — a broker's, 
" win gold and lend it " — a fool's, " win gold and end it " — a 
gambler's, " win gold and lose it " — a wise man's, " win gold 
and use it." 

"Of all the evil propensities to which human nature is 
subject, there is no one so general, so insinuating, sc corruptive, 
and so obstinate, as the love of money. It begins to operate 



252 THE MODERN MOLOCH. 

early, and it continues to the end of li:^e. One of the first 
lessons which children learn, and one which old men never 
forget, is the value of money. The covetous seek and guard it 
for its own sake, and the prodigal himself must first be avari- 
cious, before he can be profuse. This, of all our passions, is best 
able to fortify itself by reason, and is the last to yield to the 
force of reason. Philosophy combats, satire exposes, religion 
condemns it in vain ; it yields neither to argument, nor ridi- 
cule, nor conscience." * 

This love of money, which Holy Scjripture tells us is " the root 
of all evil," Jeremy Taylor describes as a vertiginous pool, suck- 
ing all into its vortex, to destroy it. That this love of gold is 
the master passion of the age, few will question. It is " the 
age of gold ; " the auriferous sands of the Pacific for the west- 
ern hemisphere, and those of Australia for the eastern, are 
incessantly pouring out their treasures to feed the insatiate 
cravings of avarice. The liturgy " on 'Change " seems to read 
— Man's chief end is tp make money, and to enjoy it while he 
can. The votaries of Mammon, however, do not enjoy their 
possessions — they have no leisure for it, in their ceaseless, toil- 
some efforts, to augment their fortunes. 

Thousands in the great city there are, who never look out of 
the narrow circle of self-interest ; whose decalogue is their 
arithmetic ; whose Bible is their ledger ; who have so con- 
tracted, and hardened, and indurated their natures, that in any 
spiritual estimate, they would only represent so many bags of 
dollars. 

It is indispensable, in some cases, that men should have 
money, for without it they would be worth nothing. This, 
however, offers no apology for the universal scramble after 
money. Is this money-mania the highest development of our 

* Hunter's Biography. 



THE MODERN MOLOCH. 253 

vaunted civilization? — the swnmum honum of human exist- 
ence ? — the Ultima Thule of human effort ? 

" The plague of gold strikes far and near, 
And deep and strong it enters ; 
The purple cymar which we wear, 
Makes madder than the centaurs ; 
Our thoughts grow blank, our words grow strange, 

"We cheer the pale gold-diggers. 
Each soul is worth so much on 'Change, 
And marked, hke sheep, with figures." 

" Men work for it, fight for it, beg for it, steal for it, starve 
for it, lie for it, live for it, and die for it. And all the while, 
from the cradle to the grave, Nature and God are ever thun- 
dering in our ears the solemn question — ' What shall it profit 
a man to gain the whole world and lose his own soul ? ' This 
madness for money is the strongest and the lowest of the pas- 
sions ; it is the insatiate Moloch of the human heart, before 
whose remorseless altar all the finer attributes of humanity are 
sacrificed. It makes merchandise of all that is sacred in 
human affections ; and even traffics in the awful solemnities of 
the eternal world." 

" Gone, the spirit-quickening leaven. 
Faith and love, and hope in heaven — 

All that warmed the earth of old. 

Dead and cold, its pulses flutter ; 

Weak and old, its parched lips nautter. 
Nothing nobler, nothing higher 
Than the tmappeased desire, 

The quenchless thirst for gold ! " 

Money is a good servant, but a bad master. It may be 
accused of injustice towards mankind, inasmuch as there are 
only a few who make false money, whereas money makes 
many false men. Mammon is the largest slaveholder in the 



254 THE MODERN MOLOCH. 

world — it is a composition for takiug stains out of character — 
it is an altar on which self sacrifices to self. 

' ' How many a man from love of pelf, 
To stuff his coffers, starves himself ; 
Labors, accumulates, and spares. 
To lay up ruin for his heirs ; 
Grudges the poor their scanty dole, 
Saves everything except his soul ; 
And always anxious, always vexed. 
Loses both this world and the next ! " 

Shakspeare defines the sordid passion as — 

" Worse poison to men's souls, 
Doing more murders in this loathsome world 
Than any mortal drug." 

In the words of Johnson, it is the 

" Wide- wasting pest ! that rages unconfined, 
And crowds with crimes the records of mankind ; 
For gold, his sword the hireling ruffian draws. 
For gold, the hireling judge distorts the laws ; 
Wealth heaped on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys, 
The dangers gather as the treasures rise." 

"The covetous man lives as if the world were made altogether 
for him, and not he for the world, to take in everything, and to 
part with nothing. Charity is accounted no grace with him, 
nor gratitude any virtue. In short he is a pest and a monster, 
greedier than the sea, and barrener than the shore." * 

" The wretch concentered all in self. 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown. 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust from whence he sprung 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung." 

Wealth usually ministers to the baser passions of our nature 

* South. 



THE MODERN MOLOCH. 255 

— it engenders selfishness, feeds arrogance, and inspires a sense 
of self -security, and deadens and stultifies the nobler feelings 
and holier aspirations of the heart. Wealth is a source of end- 
less discontent ; it creates more wants than it supplies, and 
keeps its incumbent constantly craving, crafty, and covetous. 
Lord Bacon says, " I cannot call riches by a better name than 
the ' baggage ' of virtue. It cannot be spared or left behind, 
and yet it hindereth the march." " Misery assails riches, as 
lightning does the highest towers ; or as a tree that is heavy 
laden with fruit, breaks its own boughs, so do riches destroy the 
virtue of their possessor." 

Burton quaintly but forcibly observes, — " Worldly wealth is 
the devil's bait ; and those whose minds feed upon riches, re- 
cede in general, from real happiness, in proportion as their 
stores increase ; as the moon, when she is fullest of light, is 
furthest from the sun." 

A miser is, moreover, the most oblivious, as well as the most 
vindictive of mortals ; he is said to be always f or-getting, and 
never for-giving. He lives unloved, and dies unlamented. His 
self-denial is only surpassed by his denial of the poor and des- 
titute. The miser starves himself in the midst of plenty, that 
he may feast his imagination on his useless hoards. Avarice, 
unlike most other passions, becomes more exacting as its victim 
increases in age. Fielding speaks of a miser, who consoled 
himself on his death-bed " by making a crafty and advanta- 
geous bargain concerning his funeral, with an undertaker who 
had married his only child." There have been examples of 
misers who have died in the dark to save the cost of a candle. 
How debasing the passion which can survive every other feel- 
ing, sear the conscience, and deaden the moral sense ! " Of all 
creatures upon earth none is so despicable as the miser. He 
meets with no sympathy. Even the nurse who is hired to at- 
tend hini in his latest hours, loathes the ghastly occupation, and 



256 THE MODERN MOLOCH. 

longs for the moment of her release ; for although the death- 
damp is already gathering on his brow, the thoughts of the de- 
parting sinner are still upon his gold ; and, at the mere jingle 
of a key, he starts from his torpor in a paroxysm of terror, lest 
a surreptitious attempt should be made upon the sanctity of his 
strong box. There are no prayers of the orphan or widow for 
him — not a solitary voice has ever breathed his name to heaven 
as a benefactor. One poor penny given away in the spirit of 
true charity would now be worth more to him than all the world 
contains ; he has never yet been able to divorce himself from 
his solitary love of lucre, or to part with one atom of his pelf. 
And so, from a miserable life — deserted, despised, he passes in- 
to a dread eternity ; and those whom he has neglected or mis- 
used, make merry with the hoards of the miser ! " * 

" Tlie aged man that coffers up his gold, 

Is plagued with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits, 

And scarce has eyes his treasure to behold ; 
But lite stUl pining Tantalus he sits. 
And useless bams the harvest of his wits ; 

Having no other pleasure of his gain 

But torment that it cannot cure his pain." 

The animating principle of both miser and hog is, of course, 
selfishness. Both are delvers of the grovelling sort, both are 
ill-tempered and sometimes cruel. It is noticed by a Swedish 
writer, that " the hog does not enjoy the society of man, as the 
dog does. He likes going about by himself, grunting in an un- 
dertone, which he prefers to raising his voice to its highest 
pitch." This is eminently true of the miser. He is thoroughly 
unsocial in his disposition, burrows by himself, and mutters to 
himself, not daring to raise his voice in manly tones, lest it 
should draw attention to his ill-gotten gains. 

* Blackwood. 



THE MODERN MOLOCH. 257 

" Tlie wretched victim of avarice is ever striving to amass 
wealth by every expedient that will not subject him to the 
criminal laws, and to place it in security, is the great and ulti- 
mate object of his pursuit. Mammon is the great idol he wor- 
ships, and whatever the specious and plausible pretexts he may 
assume, he pays homage at no other shrine. In his selfish iso- 
lation, he surrenders himself up to the domination of his de- 
basing passion — a voluntary exile from the endearing ofiices of 
friendship, and the gentle charities of domestic and social life. 
The benio-n and blessed influence of heaven-born Peace sheds 
not her halcyon rays upon his dark and desolate heart. A miser 
is one who, though he loves himself better than all the world, 
uses himself worse : for he lives like a pauper in order that he 
may enrich his heirs, whom he naturally hates, because he knows 
they hate him." * 

At a subscription of the French Academy for some charita- 
ble object, each contributor putting in a louis d^or^ the collec- 
tor, by mistake, made a second application to a member noted 
for his penuriousness — " I have already paid," exclaimed the 
latter with some asperity. " I beg your pardon," said the ap- 
plicant, ■' I have no doubt but you paid ; I believe it though I 
did not see it." " And I saw it, and do not believe it," whis- 
pered Yoltaire. 

" Other passions have their holidays," says an old writer, 
" but avarice never suffers its votaries to rest." 

" O, cursed love of gold ! when for thy sake 
The fool throws up his interest in both worlds." 

" Joshua," said Ambrose, " could stop the course of the sun, 
but all his power could not stop the course of avarice. The 
sun stood still, but avarice went on ; Joshua obtained a victory 

* Horace Smith. 
17 



258 THE MODERN MOLOCH. 

when the sun stood still ; but when avarice was at work Joshua 
was defeated." We have other recorded facts in sacred story 
illustrative of the crime of cupidity. Achan's covetous humor 
made him steal that wedge of gold which served to " cleave 
his soul from God ; " it made Judas betray Christ ; and Absa- 
lom to attempt to pluck the crown from his father's head. 

Sands has written a beautiful apostrophe to Poverty, and 
by way of contrast, we cite a sentence or two : 

"They have chained the good goddess — they have beaten 
her and persecuted her ; but they cannot debase her. She has 
taken refuge in the souls of poets, of peasants, of artists, of 
martyrs, and of saints. Many children has she had, and many 
a divine secret lias she taught them. She does all the greatest 
and most beautiful things that are done in the world ; it is she 
who cultivates the fields, and prunes the trees — who drives the 
herds to pasture, singing the while all sweet songs — who sees 
the day-break, and catches the sun's fi.rst smile. It is she who 
inspires the poet, and makes eloquent the guitar, the violin, and 
the flute ; who instructs the dexterous artisan, and teaches him 
to hew stone, to carve marble, to fashion gold and silver, copper 
and iron. It is she who supplies oil for the lamp, who reaps the 
harvest fields, kneads bread for us, weaves our garment* , in 
summer and winter, and who maintains and feeds the world. 
It is she who nurses us in infancy, succors us in sorrow and 
sickness, and attends us to the silent sleeping-place of death. 
Thou art all gentleness, all patience, all strength and all com- 
passion. It is thou who dost reunite all thy children in a holy 
love, givest them charity, faith, hope, O, goddess of Poverty ! " 

Every man is rich or poor, according to the proportion be- 
tween his desires and enjoyments. Of riches, as of other things, 
the pursuit is more than the enjoyment ; "while we consideir 
them as the means to be used at some future time for the at- 
tainment of felicity, ardor after them secures us from weari- 



THE MODERN MOLOCH. 259 

ness of ourselves ; but no sooner do we sit down to enjoy our 
acquisitions, than we find them insuflScient to fill up the vacui- 
ties of life. We are poor only when we want necessaries ; it 
is custom gives the name of poverty to the want of superflui- 
ties. 

Worthy Izaak Walton has something to say on this subject, 
too good to be omitted : 

" I have a rich neighbor that is always so busy that he has 
no leisure to laugh ; the whole business of his life is to get 
money, more money that he may still get more. He is still 
drudging, saying what Solomon says : ' The diligent hand mak- 
eth rich.' And it is true, indeed ; but he considers not that it 
is not in the power of riches to make a man happy ; for it was 
wisely said by a man of great observation, ' that there be as 
many miseries beyond riches, as on this side of them.' And 
yet heaven deliver us from pinching poverty, and grant that, 
having a competency, we may be content and thankful. Let 
us not repine, or so much as think the gifts of God unequally 
dealt, if we see another abound in riches, when, as God knows, 
the cares that are the keys that keep those riches, hang often 
so heavily at the rich man's girdle, that they clog him with 
weary days and restless nights, even where others sleep quietly." 

What material difference is it to us, provided we inhale the 
perfume of the fragrant flowers, whether they belong to our 
neighbor or ourself ; or whether the fair estate be the property 
of and called after the name of another, so we are refreshed 
with the vision ? We share a community of interest in this re- 
spect, in all the fair and beautiful things of earth. 



" For nature's care, to all her children just, 
With richer treasures and an ampler state 
Endows at large whatever happy man will deign to use them. 
His the city's pomp, the rural honors his — 



260 THE MODERN MOLOCH. 

Whate'er adorns the princely dome, the column, and the arch, 
The breathing marble, and the sculptured gold — 
Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, 
His tuneful breast enjoys." 

Man is necessarily a selfish being to a certain extent, but the 
social principle is no less an attribute of his nature ; and the 
divine injunction requiring hira to love his neighbor as himself 
was doubtless imposed for the preservation of the weak and de- 
pendent, as well as being the palladium of all the virtues. 
As a class, the poor are, indeed, often prodigal of their gifts, 
while the affluent are no less penurious; the former may 
almost be said to rob themselves, while the latter defraud the 
necessitous of their just claims. To choose between the two 
conditions, indeed, were not difficult ; the miser sees dazzling 
visions, and wields the will of others at his nod, but to all 
other hopes and pleasures he is dead, and cut off from all con- 
nection with his kind. 

The miser's ideal sum of happiness is, always, — addition : 
yet he sometimes finds, at the end of the reckoning, that the 
sum total is misery. Does not the name import as much — for 
is there not, at least, an etymological connection between, — 
miser and misery ? 

" I am rich enough," says Pope to Swift, " and can afford to 
give away a hundred pounds a year. I would not crawl upon 
the earth without doing a little good. I will enjoy the pleasure 
of what I give, by giving it alive, and seeing another enjoy it. 
When I die, I should be ashamed to leave enough for a monu- 
ment, if a wanting friend was above ground." That speech 
of Pope is enough to immortalize him ; independently of his 
philosophic verse. 

The classic page furnishes examples of a noble contempt of 
wealth, and a virtuous preference of poverty over venality and 
lust of riches. These, however, are rather exceptions to the 



THE MODERN MOLOCH. 261 

rule which sustains the converse of the proposition ; and be- 
fore turning to the bright side, let us briefly refer to one oi 
two instances of the baneful effects of avarice on the human 
heart. The history of nations, is, indeed, but little more than 
a chronicle of the crimes engendered by the cupidity of man- 
kind. The inordinate desire of wealth has been the occasion 
of more mischief and misery in the world than anything else. 
Some of the direst evils with which the world has ever been 
afflicted, have emanated from this source. Iso sooner had 
Columbus solved the problem of the Western Continent, than 
the accursed lust of gold began to fire the sordid hearts of his 
successors. Every species of perfidy, cruelty, and inhumanity 
towards the aborigines was practised against them, in order to 
extort from them their treasures. These mercenary wretches 
forced the natives of Hispaniola so mercilessly to delve and 
toil for the much-coveted ore, that tliey actually reduced their 
numbers, within less than half a centurj^, from two millions to 
about one hundred and fifty. The conquest of Mexico, by 
Cortez and his followers, impelled by the same insatiable pas- 
sion, was accompanied with horrors, atrocities, and slaughters, 
more dreadful and revolting than almost any recorded in the 
annals of our race. To prepare the way for enjoying the 
plunder they had in view, the unoffending Indians were butch- 
ered by thousands ; while carnage and every species of heart- 
less cruelty marked their progress of spoliation. In the siege 
of Mexico, no less than a hundred thousand of the natives 
were sacrificed ; and, as if to add to the effrontery and depra- 
vity of the act, it was perpetrated under the standard of the 
Cross, and with the invocation of the God of armies to aid the 
conquests. The like atrocities characterized the expedition of 
Pizarro for the conquest of Peru. Under perfidious profes- 
sions of amity, they captured the Inca, butchering some four 
thousand of his unresisting; attendants. 



262 THE MODERN MOLOCH. 

The baneful effects of avarice, whether displayed in individ- 
ual conduct, or among communities of men, are the same. 
We must content ourselves with referring briefly to a few in- 
stances of the former, as illustrative of the force of this debas- 
ing evil. 

In the year 1790, died at Paris, literally of want, the well- 
known banker — Ostervald. This miserable victim of this dis- 
ease, a few days prior to his death, resisted the importunities 
of his attendant to purchase some meat for the purpose of 
making a little soup for him. " True, I should like the soup," 
he said, " but I have no appetite for the meat ; what is to be- 
come of that ? it will be a sad waste." This poor wretch died 
possessed of £125,000 sterling. Another desperate case was 
that of Elwes, whose diet and dress were alike of the most re- 
volting kind, and whose property was estimated at £800,000 
sterling. Among other characteristic incidents related of him? 
it is said that on the approach of that dread summons which 
was to divorce him from his cherished gold, he exclaimed, " I 
will keep my money — nobody shall rob me of my property." 

We meet with the name of Daniel Dancer, whose miserly 
propensities were indulged to such a degree, that on one occa- 
sion, when at the urgent solicitation of a friend, he ventured to 
give a shilling to a Jew for an old hat — " better as new " — to 
the astonishment of his friend, the next day he actually retailed 
it for eighteen pence. He was in the habit of carrying a snuff- 
box about with him, not for the purpose of regaling his olfac- 
tory organ, but for what, does the reader suppose ? to collect 
pinches of the aromatic dust from his snuff-taking friends : 
and when the box was filled, he would barter its contents for a 
farthing rushlight ! He performed his ablutions at a neigh- 
boring pool, drying himself in the sun, to save the extravagant 
indulo^ence of a towel. Other eccentricities are chronicled of 
this remarkable " case" — such as lying in bed during the cold 



THE MODERN MOLOCH. 263 

weatber to save the cost of fuel, and eating garbage to save 
the charges for food : yet this poor mendicant had property 
to the extent of upwards of £3,000 per annum. There was a 
Russian merchant — never mind his name, it is too barbarously 
burdened with consonants to spell or pronounce — who was so 
prodigiously wealthy, that on one occasion he loaned the Em- 
press Catherine the Second a million of rubles, although he 
lived in the most deplorable state of indigence, privation, and 
wretchedness. He buried his money in casks in his cellar, and 
was so great a miser that he seemed almost to thrive upon his 
very passion. He had his troubles, however, for, reposing his 
trust for the security of his possessions upon the fierceness and 
fidelity of his favorite dog, his bulwark of safety failed him. 
The dog very perversely died, and his master was driven to 
the disagreeable alternative of officiating in the place of the 
deceased functionary, by imitating the canine service — going 
his rounds every evening and barking as well as any human 
dog could be expected to do. 

M. Yandille, of Paris, was one of the most remarkable in- 
stances on record of immense wealth being combined with ex- 
treme ]3enuriousness ; he lodged as high up as the roof would 
admit, as certain poor poets are said to do, and lived on stale 
bread and diluted milk ; notwithstanding he possessed great 
property in the public funds. Chancellor Hardwicke, when 
worth £800,000, set the same miserly value on a shilling as 
when he possessed but £100 ; and the great Duke of Marlbo- 
rough, when near the close of life, was in the habit of exhibit- 
ing singular meanness to save a sixpence, although his pro- 
perty was over a million and a half sterling. The cases we 
have adduced are extreme instances of the influence of avar- 
ice ; but it should not be forgotten that the principle of cove- 
tousness is the same in its tendency wherever it exists, and it is 
only in consequence of the counteracting force of circumstan- 



264 THE MODERN MOLOCH. 

ces that all its victims fail to present the same degree of degra- 
dation and wretched moral deformity. 

More recently, we read of an instance which occurred at 
ITewby, in Westmoreland. This individual, when a young 
man, became possessed of a little property ; he worked as a 
laborer, and added to his store ; through a long series of years 
he scraped and saved, denying himself every comfort and 
almost real necessaries. During his latter years he lived in a 
cottage alone, in the most wretched stvle. Several estates had 
been mortgaged to him ; and a box which he kept at the foot 
of his bed, and upon which his eyes were fixed when dying, 
contained money and securities of the value of £20,000. 

The well-known Nat. Bently (alias Dirty Dick) of London, 
belongs to this category. This eccentric specimen of humanity 
was the victim not only to a craving for gold, but also for old 
iron. "We have a dim recollection of the dingy old shop in 
Leadenhall street, piled up with heaps of all kinds of old iron 
and lumber. The last twenty years of his miserable existence 
were spent in dirt and destitution. Another deplorable 
case might be cited — that of Thomas Pitt, of Warwickshire. 
All his solicitude was about his money ; his pulse rose and fell 
with the public funds. He lived over thirty years ensconced 
in a gloomy garret, never enlivened with light of lamp or fire, 
or the cheering smile of friendship. It is reported, that some 
weeks prior to the sickness which terminated his despicable 
career, he went to several undertakers in quest of a cheap cof- 
fin ! As he lived without the regards, so he died without the 
reo-rets, of his neio-Lbors — a miserable illustration of the cor- 
rupting influence of cupidity. He left behind him £2,475 
in the public funds. Another instance is that of the notorious 
Thomas Cook. His ruling passion showed itself in all its in- 
tensity at the close of his life, for on his physician intimating 
the possibility of his not existing more than five or six days, 



THE MODERN MOLOCH. 265 

with a fierce look of indignation, he protested against the use- 
less expense of sending him medicine, and charged the doctor 
never to show his face to him again. This wretched man died 
unlamented in his 86th year — a long lease shamefully abused 
and dislionored. His property was estimated at about £130,- 
000 ! How horribly debased a man becomes when he surren- 
ders himself up to the fiendish passion for gain. His influence 
is moral poison. Audley was another notorious instance. He 
lived in the days of the Stuarts, and amassed much wealth 
during the reign of the first Charles, and the Protectorate. 
He made most of his money by usury and legal chican- 
ery. On one occasion, having obtained for fifty pounds 
the debt of an insolvent for £200 — he induced the party 
under obligation, to sign a contract that he should pay, 
within twenty years from that time, one penny progressively 
doubled on the first day of twenty consecutive months, 
and in case of failure, to forfeit £500. Not suspecting 
the cunningly devised cheat, the poor debtor recommences 
business, succeeds, and at the appointed time is called upon by 
the miser for the instalments. After making several payments, 
he began to figure up the amount for which he had made him- 
self liable, in liquidation of his debt of £200. To what sum, 
do you suppose, would his new liabilities amount ? To no less 
than £2,180 ? and to what the aggregate sura of all these twen- 
ty monthly payments ? Why, the enormous total of four thou- 
sand three hundred and sixty-six pounds, eleven shillings, and 
three pence ! 

Misers like to feast their eyes with their treasure, as well as 
to handle it. We cite an instance from a recent writer,* to 
this effect. It is an anecdote related of Sir William Smyth, 
of Bedfordshire. He was immensely rich, but most parsimo- 
nious and miserlj^ in his habits. At seventy years of age, he 

* Merryweather. 



266 THE MODERN MOLOCH. 

was entirely deprived of his sight, unable to gloat over his 
hoarded heaps of gold ; this was a terrible affliction. He was 
persuaded by Taylor, the celebrated oculist, to be couched ; 
who was, by agreement, to have sixty guineas if he restored 
his patient to any degree of sight. Taylor succeeded in his 
operation, and Sir William was enabled to read and write, 
without the aid of spectacles, during the rest of his life. But 
no sooner was his sight restored, than the baronet began to 
regret that his agreement had been for so large a sum ; he felt 
no joy as others would have felt, but grieved and sighed over 
the loss of his sixty guineas. His thoughts were now how to 
cheat the oculist ; he pretended that he had only a glimmering 
and could see nothing distinctly ; for which reason, the ban- 
dage on his eyes was continued a month longer than the usual 
time. Taylor was deceived by these misrepresentations, and 
agreed to compound the bargain, and accepted twenty guineas, 
instead of sixty. At the time Taylor attended him, he had a 
large estate, an immense sum of money in the stocks, and six 
thousand pounds in the house. 

Our last citation exhibits an involuntary case of immolation 
to Moloch. 

A miser, of the name of Foscue, who had amassed enormous 
wealth by the most sordid parsimony and discreditable extor- 
tion, was requested by the government to advance a sum of 
money, as a loan. The miser, to whom a fair interest was not 
inducement sufficiently strong to enable him to part with his 
treasured gold, declared his incapacity to meet this demand ; he 
pleaded severe losses, and the utmost poverty. Fearing, how- 
ever, that some of his neighbors, among whom he was very un- 
popular, would report his immense wealth to the government, 
he applied his ingenuity to discover some effectual way of hid- 
ing his gold, should they attempt to institute a search to 
ascertain the truth or falsehood of his plea. With great care 



THE MODERN MOLOCR 267 

and secrecy, he dug a great cave in his cellar ; to this recepta- 
cle for his treasure he descended by a ladder, and to the trap- 
door he attached a spring-lock, so that, on shutting, it would 
fasten of itself. By and by the miser disappeared : inquiries 
were made ; the house was searched ; woods were explored 
and the ponds were dragged : but no Foscue could they find ; 
and gossips began to conclude that the miser had fled, with his 
gold, to some part where, by living incognito, he would be free 
from the hands of the government. Some time passed on ; the 
house in which he had lived was sold, and workmen were 
busily employed in its repair. In the progress of their work 
they met with the door of the secret cave, with the key in the 
lock outside. They tlii-ew back the door, and descended with 
a light. The first object upon which the lamp reflected was 
the ghastly body of Foscue, the miser, and scattered around 
him were heavy bags of gold, and ponderous chests of untold 
treasure; a candlestick lay beside him on the floor. This 
worshipper of Mammon had gone into his cave, to pay his 
devoirs to his golden god, and had thus become a sacrifice to 
his devotion ! 

Occasionally, these wretched monopolizers of money are 
really more indulgent to the world than to themselves. Guyot 
of Marseilles, was a despised tatterdemalion all his life, yet 
many benefited by his parsimony. His executors, on opening 
his will, found these remarkable words : " Having observed, 
from my infancy, that the poor of Marseilles are ill-supplied 
with water, which can only be procured at a great price, I have 
cheerfully labored the whole of my life to procure for them 
this great blessing, and I direct that the whole of my property 
shall be expended in building an aqueduct for their use " ! 

We might here glance at the effects of an opposite disposition, 
as illustrated in a few examples of distinguished benevolence. 
Alfred the Great, among other noble traits of character, ex- 



268 THE MODERN MOLOCH. 

hibited, on a certain occasion, an instance of exemplary 
sympathy for suffering, under circumstances which, tested 
unequivocally the goodness of his heart. Shortly after the 
retreat from his enemies, a beggar came to his little castle, 
soliciting alms. The queen informed him that they had but 
one small loaf remaining, which was insufficient for themselves 
and their friends, who were gone in quest of food, though with 
little hope of success. The king replied, " Give the poor 
Christian one-half of the loaf. He that could feed five thou- 
sand with five loaves and two fishes, can certainly make that 
half-loaf suffice for more than our necessity." His fortitude 
and faith were rewarded, for the messengers and adherents 
of the monarch soon after returned with a liberal supply of 
provisions. The late king of Prussia affords another instance 
of benevolence. On a certain occasion he rang the bell of his 
cabinet, but, as nobody answered, he opened the door of the 
ante-chamber, and found his page fast asleep upon a chair. 
He went np to awake him ; but, on coming nearer, he observed 
a paper in his pocket upon which something was written. 
This excited his curiosity. He pulled it out, and found that it 
was a letter from the page's mother, the contents of wli^cli were 
nearly as follows : " She returned her son many thanks for the 
money he had saved out of his salary, and sent to her, and 
which had proved a very timely assistance. God would cer- 
tainly reward him for it, and, if he continued to serve God and 
his king faithfully and conscientiously, he would not fail of 
success and prosperity in this world." Upon reading this the 
king stepped softly into his closet, fetched a rouleau of ducats, 
and put it, with the letter, into the page's pocket. He then 
rang the bell again, till the page awoke, and came into his 
closet. " You have been asleep, I suppose ? " said the king. 
The, page could not deny it, stammered out an excuse (in his 
embarrassment), put his hand into his pocket, and felt the 



THE MODERN MOLOCH. 269 

rouleau of ducats. He immediately pulled it out, turned pale, 
and looked at the king with tears in his eyes. " "What is the 
matter with you?" said the king. "Oh," replied the pao-e, 
" somebody has contrived my ruin : I know nothing of this 
money ! " " "What God bestows," resumed the king, " he be- 
stows in sleep. Send the money to your mother — give my re- 
spects to her, and inform her that I will take care both of her 
and you." 

Take a passage from the Life of Washington : "Reuben 
Rouzy, of Virginia, owed the general about one thousand 
pounds. "While President of the United States, one of his 
agents brought an action for the money ; judgment was ob- 
tained, and execution issued against the body of the defendant, 
who was taken to jail. He had a considerable landed estate, 
but this kind of property cannot be sold in Virginia for debts, 
unless at the discretion of the owner. He had a large family, 
and for the sake of his children, preferred lying in jail to 
selling his land. A friend hinted to him that probably Gen- 
eral "Washington did not know anything of the proceeding, and 
that it might be well to send him a petition, with a statement 
of the circumstances. He did so, and the very next post from 
Philadelphia, after the arrival of his petition in that city, 
brought an order for his immediate release, together with a 
full discharge, and a severe reprimand to the agent, for having 
acted in such a manner. Poor Rouzy was, in consequence, 
restored to his family, who never laid down their heads at 
night without presenting prayers to Heaven for their ' beloved 
Washington.' Providence smiled upon the labors of the 
grateful family, and in a few years Rouzy enjoyed the exqui- 
site pleasure of being able to lay the one thousand pounds, 
with the interest, at the feet of this truly great man. Wash- 
ington reminded him that the debt was discharged; Rouzy 
replied, the debt of his family to the father of their country, 



270 THE MODERN MOLOCH. 

and the preserver of their parent, could never be discharged : 
and the general to avoid the pleasing importunity of the grate- 
ful Virginian , who would not be denied, accepted the money, 
only, however, to divide it among Rouzy's children, which he 
immediately did." 

There is an interesting fact related of the hero of Poland, 
indicative of his customary practice of alms-giving. "Wishing 
to convey a present to a clerical friend, he gave the commission 
to a young man of the name of Teltner, desiring him to take 
the horse which he himself usually rode. On his return, the 
messeno;er informed Kosciusko that he would never asrain ride 
his horse unless he gave him his purse at the same time ; and 
on the latter inquiring what he meant^ he replied : " As soon 
as a poor man on the road takes off his hat and asks charity, 
the animal immediately stands still, and will not stir till some- 
thing is bestowed upon the petitioner ; and as I had no money 
about me, I had to feign giving in order to satisfy the horse, 
and induce him to proceed." This noble creature deserved a 
pension and exemption from active service for the term of his 
natural life, on account of his superior education and refined 
moral sensibility. 

Among the b^ght galaxy of noble names, that of John 
Howard will ever take prominent rank in the list of benefac- 
tors. After inspecting the receptacles of crime and poverty 
throughout Great Britain and Ireland, he left his native coun- 
try, relinquishing his own ease, to visit the wretched abodes of 
those who were in want, and were bound in fetters of iron, in 
other parts of the world. He travelled three times through 
France, four through Germany, five through Holland, twice 
through Italy, once through Spain, and Portugal, Russia, 
Sweden, Denmark, and part of Turkey — occupying a period of 
about twelve years. Without the few bright spots in the 
world's arid waste of selfishness, that occasionally irradiate the 



THE MODERN MOLOCH. 271 

gloomy lot of the oppressed and poor, what a dreary life of 
deprivation and sorrow would be their portion, 

" He who knows, like St, Paul, both how to suffer need, and 
how to abound, has a great knowledge ; for if we take account 
of all the virtues with which money is mixed up — honesty, 
justice, generosity, charity, frugality, forethought, self-sacrifice 
— and of their correlative vices, it is a knowledge which goes 
near to cover the length and breadth of humanity ; and a right 
measure and manner in getting, saving, spending, giving, tak- 
ing, lending, borrowing, and bequeathing, would almost argue 
a perfect man." " 

"We must not forget that, while some few abuse wealth, 
there are vastly more who know its appropriate use and worth. 
"With such, money is the procurer of our common blessings. 
Money is then the universal talisman, the mainspring of our 
social system, the lever that moves the world. Some moderns, 
like Socrates (who wrote in praise of poverty on a table of 
solid gold), cynically speak against wealth. It is, however, the 
great motive agent in all departments of the social economy ; 
helping on the civilization of the world, and ministering not 
merely to the elegances, but also the essentials of life. Money 
represents labor. An eloquent writer -j- askll"who can ade- 
quately describe the triumphs of labor, urged on by the potent 
spell of money ? It has extorted the secrets of the universe, 
and trained its powers into myi'iads of forms of use and beauty. 
From the bosom of the old creation, it has developed anew the 
creation of industry and art. It has been its task and its 
glory to overcome obstacles. Mountains have been levelled, 
and valleys been exalted before it. It has broken the rocky 
soil into fertile glades ; it has crowned the hill-tops with fruit 
and verdure, and bound around the very feet of ocean, ridges 
of golden corn. Up from the sunless and hoary deeps, up 

* Notes on Life, f Chapin. 



272 THE MODERN MOLOCH. 

from the shapeless quarry, it drags its spotless marbles, and 
rears its palaces of pomp. It tears the stubborn metals from 
the bowels of the globe, and makes them ductile to its will. 
It marches steadily on over the swelling flood, and through the 
mountain clefts. It fans its way through the winds of ocean, 
tramples them in its course, surges and mingles them with 
flakes of fire. Civilizatioij follows in its paths. It achieves 
grander victories, it weaves more durable trophies, it holds 
wider sway than the conqueror. His name becomes tainted 
and his monuments crumble; but labor converts his red battle- 
fields into gardens, and erects monuments significant of better 
things. It rides in a chariot driven by the wind. It writes 
with the lightning. It sits crowned as a queen in a thousand 
cities, and sends up its roar of triumph from a million wheels. 
It glistens in the fabric of the loom, it rings and sparkles from 
the steely hammer, it glories in shapes of beauty ; it speaks in 
words of power, it makes the sinewy arm strong with liberty, 
the poor man's heart • rich with content, crowns the swarthy 
and sweaty brow with honor, and dignity, and peace." 

We have not mentioned a class who have been styled jpar- 
■venu, such as have acquired wealth, and with it the vulgar 
passion for display. Such characters are to be found in all 
communities, but especially in those of recent formation. Un- 
less culture and refinement accompany the possession of great 
wealth, the deformity is but the more obtrusive. 

" Worth makes the man, the want of it the fellow, 
The rest is naught but leather and prunello." 

A gentleman has been defined " a Christian in spirit that 
will take a polish." The rest are but plated goods, and, what- 
ever their fashion, rub them as you may, the base metal will 
Bhow itself still. 

Whether in ermine or fustian, there is no disguising char- 



THE MODERN MOLOCH. 273 

acter ; the refined may be seen in the latter, as palpably as the 
vulgar in the former : 

" You may daub and bedizen tbe man as you vrill, 
But the stamp of the vulgar remains on him still." 

It is from this class that virtuous poverty has most to suffer. 
These are they who " grind the faces of the poor," who, not- 
withstanding the proverb that " poverty is no crime," yet treat 
a man without money as if he were without principle ; who 
gauge the wit and worth of a man by his wearing-apparel and 
his wealth ; who deem it absurd for a poor man to assert his 
possession of intelligence, learning, or, in fact, any endowment 
whatever. Goldsmith, referring to this depreciating influence 
of poverty, says, — " A poor man resembles a tiddler, whose 
music, though liked, is not much praised, because he lives by 
it ; while a gentleman performer, though the most wretched 
scraper alive, throws the audience into raptures." 

The want of money but deprives us of friends not worth the 
keeping ; it cuts us out of society, to which dress and equipage 
are the only introduction, and deprives us of a number of need- 
less luxuries and gilded fetters. 

That which was so diligently sought by the alchemists of old, 
the contented man has discovered. Contentment is the true 
philosopher's stone which transmutes all it touches to gold ; and 
the divine maxim, that " a man's life consisteth not in the 
abundance of the things which he possesseth," is a golden 
maxim. 

" Why need I strive or sigh for wealth ? 
It is enough for me 
That Heaven hath sent me strength and health, 
A spirit glad and free ; 
Grateful these blessings to receive, 
I sing my hymn at mom and eve." 

Of all the artificial distinctions which obtain in civilized 
18 



274 



THE MODEEN MOLOCH. 



life, none are more absolute in their nature, or tyrannical in 
their effects, than those which divide the poor from the rich. 
Difference of condition tends more to disturb the harmony of 
the social compact, and to annihilate the common sympathies 
of mankind, than anything else in the world. 

" A poor relation," according to Charles Lamb, " is the most 
irrelevant thing in nature — an unwelcome remembrancer — a 
perpetually-recurring mortification — a drain on your purse, 
a more intolerable dun than your pride — a drawback upon 
success." 








INFELICITIES OF AUTHORCRAFT. 

" A spot near Cripplegate extends — 

Grub Street, — 'tis called the modem Pindus ; 
Where (not that bards are never friends) 
Bards might shake hands from adverse windows." — Sutler. 

The subject of the present chapter presents some of the 
various fallacies and foibles of the literary profession. With 
out attempting a psychological analysis of literary life, we 
propose simply to group together a few of the more striking 
idiosyncrasies which seem to be indigenous to great minds. 
If frailty and fame are twin attributes, one might be tempted 
to conclude that Nature designed such an allotment as an equi- 
poise, to silence the envy of those from whom she has with- 
held her noblest endowments, and to serve as a counteracting 



276 INFELICITIES OF AUTHORCRAFT. 

check to the inordinate self-esteem which their possession 
might otherwise superinduce. 

Possession of the creative faculty, says Leigh Hunt, pre- 
supposes a superiority to adverse circumstances and "low- 
thouo-hted care." 

So it was with Fielding, Steele, and others, honorable in lit- 
erature, and so also with Handel, Mozart, and Weber, in 
music ; and it is one of the kindly compensations of Nature, b}^ 
which she contrives to adjust so equitably the good and the 
evil of this life, that when injury to the individual arises from 
an excess of sympathy with the mass, that injury is commonly 
but lightly felt. It is yet affecting to think that during the 
composition of his great masterpieces, Mozart was scarcely 
supplied with the necessaries of life ; and Handel's immortal 
oratorios were produced under similar circumstances. 

It is supposed, and with great reason, that but for these pre- 
cise cii-cumstances, men of genius, naturally indolent, would 
not have achieved so much, or so well ; under more favoi-able 
auspices tlieir energies would have remained dormant for lack 
of stimulus. Burns was an instance of an author writing for 
love, and not for money, for he got little pecuniary reward for 
his exquisite effusions, and was ever in embarrassments. 

How many an immortal work that has proved a revenue of 
enjoyment to the world has been born amid dire affliction and 
privation! Think of almost all the inventors, in science and 
soncT, — from Roger Bacon, the friar, to whom we owe the 
discoveries of gunpowder and the telescope, — down to the in- 
ventors of the cotton-gin and the sewing-machine. Think, 
also, of Milton, the prince of poets, — inditing his vision of 
Paradise in blindness and destitution, — and of Dryden, sunk 
into neglect in his old age, having died in a garret, in an 
obscure corner of London. 

Pity that the awards of fame should come so laggardly to 



INFELICITIES OF AUTHORCRAFT. 277 

her true votaries ; but so it is. In how many cases has it been 
proven that the only requitals of transcendent genius have been 
poverty, dishonor, and sometimes an inglorious end ; leaving it 
to after times to repair the injustice of lordly ignorance and 
superstitious intolerance! Friar Bacon, the parent of more 
original discoveries than any one of his day, as already 
referred to, committed this treason against his contemporaries, 
and in consequence enlisted their persecution. 

The storm is better for the development of genius than the 
calm. "We are told by naturalists, that birds of paradise fly 
best against the wind ; it drifts behind them the gorgeous 
train of feathers, which only entangle their flight with the gale. 
Pure imagination, of which the loveliest of winged creatures 
is the fitting emblem, seems always to gain a vigor and grace 
by the tempests it encounters. 

So the flower, when crushed, emits its richest fragrance ; 
and the grape, when bruised, the richest wine. To the poor 
author, the ordeal is severe, while it is yet the procuring cause 
of much of the intellectual wealth of the world. 

Fickle Fortune has often dealt unfairly with the sons of 
genius. They generally get more credit than cash as the awards 
of their toil. It has been justly claimed for these gifted un- 
fortunates, that when even Fame will not protect them from 
Famine, Charity ought. This, certainly, is but just tribute, 
<Jue to noble service rendered. Camoens, — the pride of Por- 
tugal, and Cervantes, — the immortal genius of Spain, alike 
wanted bread, while they furnished literarj'- food to the whole 
civilized family of man. Vondel, the Shakspeare of Holland, 
died, as he had lived, in great poverty ; his coffin, however, 
was conveyed to the grave by fourteen poets, with every dem- 
onstration of respect. The great Tasso was compelled to 
solicit pecuniary aid for his very subsistence. He thus patheti- 
cally alludes to his distress, when entreating his cat to assist 



27S, INTELICITIES OF AUTHORCRAFT. 

him during the night with the lustre of her eyes, — " Non 
ovendo candele jper inscrivere i suovi versi ! " (having no can- 
dle to see to write his verses by.) 

What shall we say of the heartless ingratitude shown to the 
intellectual, magnanimous, and humane Bentivoglio, who, when 
reduced to the extremest distress, caused by his own munifi- 
cence, was actually refused admission into the very hospital 
himself had erected. 

" Thus birds for others build the downy nest ; 
Thus sheep for others bear the fleecy vest ; 
Thus bees collect for others honey'd food ; 
Thus ploughs the patient ox for others' good." 

How much imperishable literature has been engendered 
within prison-walls: Boethius, in prison composed his excel- 
lent " Consolations of Philosophy ; " and Grotius^ his " Com- 
mentary." Cervantes, it is said, wrote that masterpiece of 
Spanish romance, " Don Quixote," on board one of the gal- 
leys, in Barbary : and Sir Walter Raleigh compiled his " His- 
tory of the World " in his prison-chamber of the Tower ; while 
John Bunyan composed his immortal allegory in Bedford 
jail: and Luther gave the Bible to Germany, having trans- 
lated it in Wartburg castle. 

D'Israeli justly remarks, that "those who have labored 
most zealously to instruct mankind, have been those who have 
suffered most from ignorance ; and the discoverers of new 
arts and sciences have hardly ever lived to see them accepted 
by the world." Until Galileo and Harvey appeared, both the 
earth and the blood were supposed to be immovable ; for de- 
nying which, the first-named was persecuted, and the other 
ridiculed. Among the classic authors, Socrates and Aristotle 
were the victims of poison ; while Anaxagoras and others 
were imprisoned. Those pioneer chemists and mathematicians. 



INFELICITIES OF AUTHORCRAFT. 279 

Cornelius Agrijppa and Roger Bacon, were branded as 
magicians, because they knew too much. " If the metaphy- 
sician stood a chance of being burnt as a heretic, the natural 
philosopher was not in less jeopardy of exile, as a magician. 
The ordeal of fire was the great purifier of books and men." * 
This persecution of science and genius lasted till the close of 
the seventeenth century. 

Eeferring to the infelicities of authors, one is reminded of 
the memorable crisis in the career of Goldsmith, when under 
arrest for rent. What a tableau is here presented to us — two 
of the foremost men of letters of their day meeting together 
under circumstances of such peculiar and touching interest. 

Boswell gives us so graphic a sketch of Goldsmith's inter- 
view with Johnson, that we reproduce it entire : Dr. Johnson 
said, " I received one morning a message from poor Goldsmith 
that he was in great distress, and, as it was not in his power to 
come to me, begged that I would come to him as soon as possi- 
ble. I sent him a guinea, and promised to come to him di- 
rectly. I accordingly went as soon as I was dressed, and found 
that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, at which he 
was in a violent passion. I perceived that he had already 
changed my guinea, and had got a bottle of madeira and a 
glass before him. I put the cork into the bottle, desired he 
would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by 
which he might be extricated. He then told me that he had 
a novel ready for the press, which he produced to me. I 
looked into it, and saw its merit ; told the landlady I should 
soon return ; and having gone to a bookseller, sold it for sixty 
pounds. I brought Goldsmith the money, and he discharged 
liis rent, not without rating his landlady in a high tone for 
having used him so ill." The book was the immortal Vicar 
of Wahejield. 

* HaUam. 



280 INFELICITIES OF AUTHORCRAFT. 

Authors, like the sun, are yet not without dark spots on their 
disc! Aristotle said, long ago, there was no distinguished 
genius altogether exempt from some infusion of madness. 
Their obliquities are sometimes superinduced by physical 
causes, their overwrought mental faculties causing their irri- 
tability of temperament, and feeling of indolence and languor. 
Thomson was a case in point ; he was so reluctant to rise from 
his bed, that when remonstrated with, he replied : " Troth, 
mon, I see nae motive for rising." Pope would sometimes lie 
in bed at Bolingbroke's for whole days together. Calvin also 
studied in his bed ; and Milton frequently composed lying 
abed late in the morning. It must be evident, however, that 
such indolent habits must ultimately prove as injurious in 
their influence upon the health, as mental overworking. 
Owen, who also indulged the lazy habit, once remarked that 
he would gladly barter all his learning obtained in bed, for his 
lost health. A frequent concomitant of genius is that ready 
susceptibility to delusion and credulity, which seems to be en- 
gendered by their enthusiastic temperament. Who would have 
suspected Sir Isaac Newton of a belief in astrology, or John- 
son and Wesley of the weakness of a faith in ghosts ? Again, 
what curious contradictions of character are evinced by some 
men of genius. Locke, the matter-of-fact philosopher, revelled 
in fiction; Hobbes, the deist, was a believer in ghosts and 
spiritual existences ; and Lord Bacon has been described as 
" the wisest, greatest, meanest of mankind." 

If it be fair to peer into the private life of authorship, we 
shall find there many ludicrous idiosyncrasies of character. 
Johnson evinced his nervous irritability by biting his nails to 
the quick ; but let it be remembered, that he was once found 
in the most desponding hopelessness in a garret, destitute of 
even ink, paper, and pen with which to transcribe his lucubra- 
tions. 



INFELICITIES OF AUTHORCRAFT. 281 

As a rule, our greatest wits have not been men of a gay and 
vivacious disposition, but the opposite : such were Swift, Butler, 
Byron, Hood, and many others. Swift was never known to 
smile ; of the private history of Butler, author of Hudibras, 
little remains but the records of his miseries; Byron was a 
wretched misanthrope, at issue with himself, his Maker, and 
mankind ; and Hood was overcharged with sudorous brain- 
work, under the pressure of poverty and sickness. There is a 
ludicrous illustration of this seeming freak of Nature, in the 
instance of Liston, the comedian, who, one day in a fit of 
melancholy, applying to Abernethy for some cure of his distem- 
per, was told by that eccentric physician " to go and see Liston " ! 

D'Israeli has a diverting chapter on the amusements of 
authors. Angling was with Izaak Walton, indeed, more than 
a mere pastime ; its tranquil employment was also the favorite 
diversion of Paley, and many more contemplative minds, as 
well as Sir Henry Wotton, who styled the pursuit " idle time 
not idly spent." 

Others again indulged strange vagaries and humors ; — such 
as Menage, who, while science covered his head with laurels, 
used to cover his feet with several pairs of stockings. Pope 
used to brace himself up with corsets. 

It is said that the learned Magliabecchi, librarian to the 
Duke of Tuscany, used to divert himself in intervals of leisure 
with teasing spiders. Rousseau, when doomed to the company 
of the common-place, is said to have amused himself with 
knitting lace-strings, which he evidently preferred to long 
yarns. "With all due respect to those of high intellectual en- 
dowments, we must admit that they are sometimes sadly defi- 
cient in that also rare attribute, common-sense. Hence, to this 
cause may be traced their oft pecuniary embarrassments and 
privations. Goldsmith was a prince with his pen, but an 
idiot without it. Then, again, it must also be conceded that 



282 INFELICITIES OF AUTHORCRAFT. 

the literary profession is not superior to envy, malice, and un- 
charitableness ; but on the contrary is terribly tormented with 
them. The republic of letters is said to be the most factious and 
discordant of all republics, ancient or modern. The literary 
world is made up of little confederacies or cliques, each look- 
ing upon its own party as the fixed intellectual luminaries of 
society, and regarding all others as mere transient meteors that 
flash for a moment and — expire. 

On the other hand, we also admit, that some of the most 
celebrated authors have been of all men the least self-asserting 
and demonstrative. Such in the foremost rank were, as we all 
know, Washington Irving, Sir Isaac Newton, John Milton, and 
many who might be added to the category. 

Appearances are not always to be relied upon : it is related 
of the celebrated poet of Holland — Beldeych, that in his early 
days he was so careless and idle as to cause his father great 
anxiety ; and that one day, with the hope of stimulating him to 
some ambition, he showed him the advertisement of a prize 
offered by the Society of Leyden, which had been decreed to the 
author of a piece signed with the words, " An author eighteen 
years old," who was invited to make himself known. " You 
ought to blush, idler," said the father; "here is a boy who is 
only of your age, and though so young, is the pride and happi- 
ness of his parents; and 3'ou," — "It's myself," answered the son, 
— and the reproaches of the sire were soon exchanged for caresses 
and tears of joy. The instance of the anonymous publication 
of Evelina, by Miss Burney, is a similar case of pleasurable 
discovery of authorship. It is interesting to note some of the 
books that beguiled some of their readers into authorship. 
The genius of Scott received its first impulse from the perusal 
of Percy's "Reliques of Early English Poetry;" Rogers, from 
reading Beattie's " Minstrel ; " Lisle Bowles' poetry stimulated 
the mind of Coleridge. 



INFELICITIES OF AUTHORCRAFT. 283 

John Evelyn was indebted for much of his success to his 
amiable wife, whose refined taste and skill were equal to any 
emergency, and whose breast was fired with the same passion 
that inflamed her husband's pen. The majority of great men 
seem, however, to have repudiated matrimony altogether, 
probably from some premonition of their disqualification for 
its enjoyments. A host of great names occur to us, presenting 
an astounding array of sturdy old bachelors, enough to startle 
the complacency of the most charitable of the fair sex. 
Michael Angelo, Boyle, Newton, Locke, Bayle, Shenstone, 
Leibnitz, Hobbes, Voltaire, Pope, Adam Smith, Swift, Thom- 
son, Akenside, Arbuthnot, Hume, Gibbon, Cowper, Goldsmith, 
Gay, Lamb, Washington Irving, et cum raultis aliis, were all 
decided for celibacy. Michael Angelo replied to a remon- 
strance on the subject, that he had espoused his art, and his 
works were his children. Dr. Radcliffe lived and died unmar- 
ried, although within five or six years prior to his decease he 
fell desperately in love with a patient of rank, wealth, and 
beauty, triple charms to fascinate even an old beau ; but alas 
for this gallant hero, his suit was non-suited, and to his morti- 
fication his rejected addresses were afterward immortalized by 
Steele in his " Tattler." 

Some of the old scribes were addicted to wonderful pro- 
lixity, their productions exceeding all bounds. Epicurus, we 
are told, left behind him three hundred volumes of his own 
works, wherein he had not inserted a single quotation. Seneca 
assures us that Didymus, tlie grammarian, wrote no less than 
four thousand ; but Origen, it seems, was yet more prolific, 
having written six thousand treatises. We remember some 
years ago to have seen in a bookseller's shop two huge folios, 
printed in double columns, being a commentary on the Book 
of Job : surely more than Job-like patience would be required 
for their perusal ; what should be claimed for its production ? 



284 INFELICITIES OF ATJTHORCRAFT. 

Authorcraf t has its whims, and caprices also : Racine was ac- 
customed to walk the gardens of the Tuileries, and recite hia 
verses aloud with such violent gesticulations, that people sup- 
posed him crazy. Morel, another Frenchman, was so absorbed 
in his studies, that when a messenger informed him of the 
death of his spouse, he calmly replied, " I am very sorry ; she 
was a good woman " ! 

Sir Isaac Newton, on one occasion, invited a friend to dine 
with him ; but he not only forgot to tell his cook to provide 
for him : he sat at the table in a state of mental abstraction, 
while his friend was satisfying his hunger, and exclaimed, 
'' "Well, really, if it were not for the proof before my eyes, I 
could have sworn that I had not yet dined " ! 

Lessing, the German philosopher, was occasionally so absent- 
minded, that once he knocked at his own door, when the ser- 
vant, not recognizing her master, looked out of the window, 
and said, " The Professor is not at home." " Oh, very well," 
replied Lessing, composedly walking away, " I will call again." 

Thackeray, it is stated, never began upon less than a quire 
of letter paper. Half of this he would cover with comic draw- 
ings ; a fourth he would tear up into minute pieces ; and" on 
two or three slips of the remainder lie would do his work — 
walking about the room at intervals, with his hands in his 
pockets, and with a perturbed and woe-begone expression of 
countenance. Bloornfield wrote his " Farmer's Boy " with chalk, 
upon the top of a pair of bellows — a wind instrument, till then, 
a novelty in the choir of the Muses. The author, it is thus 
evident, is both more at ease and more to advantage in his 
study, than anywhere, else. Clifford worked his first problem 
in mathematics, when a cobbler's apprentice, upon small scraps 
of leather, which he beat smooth for the purpose ; while Ritten- 
house, the astronomer, first calculated eclipses on his plough- 
handle. 



INFELICITIES OF AUTHORGRAFT. 285 

A pan of water and two thermometers were the means by 
which Dr. Black discovered latent heat ; and a prism, a lens 
and sheet of pasteboard enabled Newton to unfold the compo- 
sition of light and the origin of color. 

An eminent foreign savant once called upon Dr. Wollaston 
and requested to be shown over his laboratories, in which 
science had been enriched by so many important discoveries, 
when the Doctor took him into a study, and, pointing to an old 
tea-tray, containing a few watch-glasses, test-papers, a small 
balance, and a blow-pipe, said, " There is all the laboratory I 
have." 

A writer in the Quarterly Review remarks, that " it was in 
the open air that "Wordsworth found the materials for his 
poems, and it was in the open air, according to the poet him- 
self, that nine-tenths of them were shaped. A stranger asked 
permission of the servant, at Kydal, to see the study. ' This,' 
said she, as she showed the room, ' is my master's library, 
where he keeps his books, but his study is out of doors.' The 
poor neighbors, on catching the sound of his humming, in the 
act of verse-making, after some prolonged absence from home, 
were wont to exclaim, ' There he is ; we are glad to hear him 
hooing about again.' From the time of his settlement at Gras- 
mere, he had a physical infirmity, which prevented his compos- 
ing pen in hand. Before he had been five minutes at his desk, 
his chest became oppressed, and a perspiration started out over 
his whole body ; to which was added, in subsequent years, in- 
cessant liability to inflammation in his eyes. Thus, when he 
had inwardly digested as many lines as his memory could 
carry, he usually had recourse to some of the inmates of his 
house, to commit them to paper." 

Ferguson laid himself down in the fields at night in a 
blanket, and made a map of the heavenly bodies by means of 
a thread with small beads on it, stretched between liis eye and 



286 INFELICITIES OF AUTHORCRAFT. 

the stars. Franklin first robbed the thundercloud of its light- 
ning by means of a kite made with two ci'oss-sticks and a silk 
handkerchief. His experiments were first tried in the tower 
of the old church, since used as the New York Post-office. 

Our sympathies become the more deeply enlisted for the pen- 
alties of authorship, when we remember that the emanations 
of mind have been attended with severe and laborious indus- 
try. 

So scrupulously fastidious was Pope as to nicety of expres- 
sion, that it is known he seldom committed to the press anything 
till it had passed under repeated revision ; and his publisher, 
Dodsley, on one occasion deemed it easier to reprint the whole 
of his corrected proofs, than attempt the needed emendations. 
Thomson, Akenside, Gray, and Cowper were equally devoted 
in their elaboration of a line ; and Goldsmith gave seven long 
years to the perfection of his inimitable production, the De- 
serted Yillage : producing, on the average, something like three 
or four lines a day, which he thought good work. Hume and 
Robertson were incessantly laboring over their language — the 
latter used to write his sentences on small slips of paper, and 
after rounding and polishing them to his satisfaction, he entered 
them in a book. 

Burke had all his principal works printed once or twice, at a 
private press, before submitting them to his publisher. John- 
son and Gibbon were exceptions to these, it is true ; they wrote 
spontaneously, and their first draft was the only one they gave 
to the press: and yet the majesty and beauty of their diction 
remain unsurpassed at the present day. The French writers 
Rousseau and St. Pierre carried their scrupulosity to an 
amusing excess. The former wrote out his new Heloise on 
fine gilt-edged paper, and with the twofold affection of a 
lover and a parent, rehearsed his effusions to the ravishment of 
his own delighted ears, before sending them to the printer ; 



INFELICITIES OF AUTHORCRAFT. 2S7 

and the latter transcribed his Paul and Virginia no less than 
nine times. Burns was another hard worker with his brain ; 
when his fickle muse jaded, he used to rock himself on a chair, 
and gaze upon the sky, patiently waiting inspiration. He was 
fastidious to a fault in the perfecting of his phrase and rhythm. 
The same delicate sense characterizes Byron, Scott, Moore, 
Campbell, and Bulwer. 

Among the pains and penalties of authorship, the critical 
censorship of the press lias had its share. 

Severe and unmerited criticism has been but too frequently 
the bane of literature, although, as in the instance of Byron, 
it ultimately tended to elicit the development of talent, which 
otherwise might never have been brought into action. Some 
writers have been driven mad, and others have actually died of 
criticism. Voltaire called these " dreaded ministers of literary 
justice" la canaille de la litterature, but he, like Pope, suffered 
retribution at their hands. 

An amusing anecdote is related of a certain French writer, 
who, failing to please the critics of his day by his avowed pro- 
ductions, afterwards resorted to the expedient of publishing 
three volumes of poetry and essays, as the works of a journey- 
man blacksmith. The trick succeeded — all France was in 
amazement ; and the poems of this child of nature — this untu- 
tored genius — this inspired son of Yulcan, as he was now called, 
were immediately and enthusiasticallj^ praised, even by the very 
critics who before repudiated the effusions of the same pen. 
Byron was condemned, among other crimes, for not having 
dated his first poems from the purlieus of Grub Street ; and 
Iveats was barbarously attacked in a similar manner by no less 
a critic than Gifford. Moore relates that such was the effect 
of the savage attack upon Byron, that a friend who happened to 
call on him shortly after he had read it, inquired whether he 
had received a challenge, such fierce defiance was depicted in 



288 INFELICITIES OF AUTHORCRAFT. 

his countenance. The result was that fine satire, " English Bards 
and Scotch Reviewers." It was about the same time that the 
opposite critical organ commenced a critique on Wordsworth's 
" Excursion " with the derisive words — " This will never do ; 
we give him up as altogether incurable and beyond the power 
of criticism." The sweet sonneteer of Windermere has for- 
tunately outlived the ignorant intolerance of this sapient cen- 
sor. Kirke White was another instance of literary assassination. 
Southey kindly consoled and encouraged him to persevere, 
but wasting disease soon hurried the young poet away, and it 
was Southey's friendly hand that first gathered his scattered 
and despised works, and gave them to the world. 

It would be no uninteresting literary speculation, remarks 
Mr. D'Israeli, to describe the difiiculties which some of our 
most favorite works encountered in their manuscript state, and 
even after they had passed through the press. Sterne, when 
he had finished his first and second volumes of " Tristram 
Shandy," offered them to a bookseller at York for fifty pounds, 
but was refused : he came to town with his MSS., and he and 
Dodsley the publisher entered into an agreement, of which 
neither repented. 

" The Rosciad," with all its merit, lay for a considerable time 
in a dormant state, till Churchill and his publisher became im- 
patient, and almost hopeless of success. " Burn's Justice " 
was disposed of by its author, who was weary of soliciting 
booksellers to purchase the MS., for a trifle, and now it yields 
an annual income. Collins burnt his '•' odes " before the door of 
his publisher. 

Some laborious writers devote their lifetime to the produc- 
tion of a single work ; as in the instance of the ill-fated but 
erudite Castell. His "Lexicon Heptaglotton " presents a re- 
markable example of great generosity, combined with the 
most herculean literary industry. lie was literally a martyr 



INFELICITIES OF AUTHORCRAFT. 289 

to letters, a case of voluntary immolation of himself and his 
fortune to his darling pursuits. It is impossible to read un- 
moved his pathetic appeal to Charles II., in which he laments 
the seventeen years of incredible pains, during which he 
thought himself idle when he had not devoted sixteen or 
eighteen hours a day to the Lexicon ; that he had expended 
all his inheritance (more than twelve thousand pounds) ; that 
it had broken his constitution, and left him blind, as well as 
poor. When this invaluable Polyglott was j^nblished, the 
copies remained vmsold on his hands ; for the learned Castell 
had anticipated the curiosity and knowledge of the public by a 
full century. He had so completely devoted himself to 
Oriental studies, that they had a very remarkable consequence; 
for he had totally forgotten his own language, and could 
Bcarcely spell a single word. This appears in some of his 
English letters, preserved by Mr. Nichols in his "Literary 
Anecdotes." 

Prideaux, afterwards Bishop of Worcester, was in early life 
60 poor as to be obliged to walk on foot to the university, 
where he at first obtained a menial situation in the kitchen of 
Exeter College, which college he did not leave till he became 
one of its fellows. The two Milners, who wi*ote the well- 
known history of the Christian Church, were originally 
weavers, as was also Dr. White, late regius professor of Arabic. 
The celebrated John Hunter received scarcely any education 
until he had attained the age of twenty, and then was appren- 
ticed to a cabinet-maker : yet he became one of the greatest 
anatomists that ever lived. 

Numerous as have been the institutions designed for the 
relief of the indigent poor, but one is known to have been 
erected for the especial benefit of the hapless author ; and this, 
established by Pope Urban YIII., bore the strangely signifi- 
cant name of the " Eetreat of the Incurables," as if implyiar 
19 



290 



INFELICITIES OF AUTHORCRAFi'. 



that its devotees were deemed irreclaimable alike from the 
crime of poverty and authorship. 

Like many other works which have since become classics, 
Thomson's Seasons long in vain sought a publisher. 

" Poetry is," according to Coleridge, " its own exceeding great 
reward," and this is, sometimes, about all that falls to its votaries. 
Intellectual endowments are of themselves too costly and rare 
to be vulgarized by sordid gains. Yet wlio does not compas- 
sionate the privations and poverty of the mighty minds, whose 
genius has enriched the realm of thought with the bright crea- 
tions of fancy, or whose patient and laborious studies have re- 
vealed to us the great mysteries of science ; — a wealth so vast, 
that no pecuniary returns on our part could adequately com- 
pensate. 





THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 



' Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare, 
And beauty draws us with a single hair 1 ' 



Pope. 



" "Woman was made ' exceedingly fair,' a creature not only 
fitted for all the deference and homage our minds could be- 
stow, but obviously intended for the most elegant wardrobes 
and brilliant trousseaus our purses could furnish. But, how 
ever we may fall short of our duty to the sex in this latter re 
spect, let no woman, therefore, suppose that any man can be 
really indifferent to her appearance. Of course, the immedi- 
ate effect of a well-chosen feminine toilet operates differently 



292 THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 

in different minds. In some it causes a sense of actual pleas- 
nre ; in others a consciousness of passive enjoyment. In some 
it is intensely felt while present ; in others only missed when 
gone. None can deny its power over them, more or less ; or, 
for their own sakes, had better not be believed, if they do." * 

The intimate relations between woman's beauty and her 
mirror render it impossible for the fair possessor to be uncon- 
scious of her endowment ; and consequently it would be always 
at a premium. 

" Smilingly fronting the mirror she stands, 

Her white fingers loosening the prisoned brown bands 

To wander at will — and they kiss as they go, 

Her brow, and her cheek, and her shoulders of snow, 

Her violet eyes, with their soft, changing Ught, 

Growing darker when sad, and when merry more bright, 

Look in at the image, till the Ups of the twain 

Smile at seeing how each gives the snule back again." 

The looking-glass, although it is personal in its reflections, 
yet they are given silently, so that however much we may feel 
our pride mortified occasionally by its revelations, we never 
fail to cherish a friendly feeling for so faithful a monitor. 
Kinder, also, is the looking-glass than the wine-glass ; for, not- 
withstanding the tendency of the former to self -flattery, when 
it reveals our defects, it does so confidentially ; whereas the 
wine-glass makes us betray our own frailties alike to friends 
and foes. 

It has been observed that God intended all women to be 
beautiful, as much as he did the morning-glories and the roses. 
Beauty is 

o " Like the sweet South, 

That breathes upon a bank of violets. 
Stealing, and giving odor." 

* Quarterly Rev. 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 293 

Ideal beauty, as well as beautiful objects of art and nature, 
affect us with a sort of sweet contagion. In the contempla- 
tion of a line picture, we drink in the spirit of beauty through 
the eye : and this is probably the reason why lovely women 
are occasionally addicted to aesthetics — the study of their 
charms in the mirror. 

Milton supposes Eve was fascinated with her own charms as 
mirrored in the waters of Paradise, and her daughters have 
faithfully followed her example, for they are seldom disinclined 
to contemplate ideal beauty in their own symmetrical forms 
and features. If the " proper study of mankind is man," why 
may not woman be allowed a like privilege, for thereby a 
blemish may be removed and many a charm heightened. 

The love of ornament creeps slowly, but surely, into woman's 
heart ; the girl who twines the lily in her tresses, and looks at 
herself in the clear stream, will soon wish that the lily was 
fadeless, and the stream a mirror. 

Southey, in his Omniana, relates the following: "When 
I was last in Lisbon, a nun made her escape from the nunnery. 
The lirst thing for which she inquired when she reached the 
house in which she was to be secreted was a looking-glass. She 
had entered the convent when only five years old, and from 
that time had never seen her own face." There was some ex- 
cuse for her wishing to peruse her own features. 

A mirror has been thus variously described, as the only 
truth-teller in general favor — a journal in which Time records 
his progress — a smooth acquaintance, but no flatterer. We may 
add, that it is the only tolerated medium of reflection upon 
woman's beauty, and the last discarded ; Queen Elizabeth, we 
iearn, did not desert her looking-glass while there was any ves- 
tige left in the way of beauty with which to regale herself.* 

* When Queen Elizabeth was far advanced in life, she ordered aU pictures 
of herself painted by artists who had not flattered her faded features, to be 



294 THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 

Socrates called beauty a short-lived tyranny ; Plato, a privi- 
lege of nature ; Theophrastus, a silent cheat ; Theocritus, a 
delightful prejudice ; and Aristotle affirmed, that it was better 
than all the letters of recommendation in the world. 

Fontenelle thus daintily compliments the sex, when he com- 
pares women and clocks — the latter serve to point out the 
hours, the former to make us forget them. 

There is a magic power in beauty that all confess — a strange 
witchery that fascinates and enchants us, with a potency as 
irresistible as that of the magnet. It is to the moral world 
what gravitation is to the physical. 

Dean Swift proposed to tax female beauty, and to leave 
every lady to rate her own charms. He said the tax would be 
cheerfully paid, and prove very productive. 

Beauty is inflexible : it appears to us a dream, when we 
contemplate the works of the great artists ; it is a hovering, 
floating, and glittering shadow, whose outline eludes the grasp 
of definition. Mendelssohn, the philosopher, grandfather of 
the composer, tried to catch Beauty, as a butterfly, and pin it 
down for inspection ; but both defy pursuit. 

Lord Bacon justly remarked, that the best part of beauty. is 
that which a picture cannot express. Yes, beauty is indescri- 
bable and inexplicable ; all we know is, that it fascinates, daz- 
zles, and bewilders us with its mystic power. No wonder the 
poets define woman as something midway between a flower 
and an angel. 

Women are the poetry of the world, in the same sense as 

collected and burned ; and in 1593 issued a proclamation forbidding all persons 
save " special cunning painters " to draw her likeness. She quarrelled at last 
with her looking-glass as well as with her painters. During the last years of her 
life, the maids of honor removed mirrors as they would have removed poison 
from the apartments of royal pride. It is said that at the time of her death 
her wardrobe contained more than two thousand dresses. 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 295 

the stars are the poetry of heaven. Clear, light-giving, harmo- 
nious, they are the terrestrial planets that rule the destinies of 
mankind. 

Wordsworth seems to have caught a vision of beauty, where 
he sings : 

' ' I saw her, upon nearer view, 
A spirit, yet a woman too. 
Her household motions light and free, 
And steps of virgin liberty ; 
A countenance in which did meet 
Sweet records, promises as sweet. 
A creature not too bright or good 
For human nature's daily food, 
For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles." 

" Beauty, — the eye's idol," does not consist merely in a fair 
face, a sparkling eye, or a symmetrical form, so much as in 
that nameless charm, — " that elevation of soul, that heart- 
warm, sunny smile, playing about the mouth, that sweetly- 
subdued voice, and that love-light of the eye — all which 
make up womanly worth and excellence." 

Beauty of countenance, which, being the light of the soul 
shining through the face, is independent of features or com- 
plexion, is the most attractive, as well as the most enduring 
charm. 

In truth, it is difficult to form any fixed standard of beauty. 
Qualities of personal attraction, the most opposite imaginable, 
are each looked upon as beautiful in different countries, or by 
different people in the same country. That which is deformity 
at Paris may be beauty at Pekin ? 

" Beauty, thou wild, fantastic ape — 

Who dost in every country change thy shape ; 

Here black, there brown, here tawny, and there white 1 " 



296 THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 

The frantic lover sees " Helen's beauty in an Egyptian 
brow." The black teeth, the painted eyelids, the plucked eye- 
brows of the Chinese fair, have admirers ; and should their 
feet be large enough to walk upon, their owners are regarded 
as monsters of ugliness. 

"With the modern Greeks, and other nations on the shores of 
the Mediterranean, corpulency is the perfection of form in a 
woman ; and those very attributes which disgust the western 
European form the attractions of an Oriental fair. It was 
from the common and admired shape of liis countrywomen 
that Rubens in his pictures delights so much in a vulgar and 
odious plumpness : — when this master was desirous to repre- 
sent the " beautiful," he had no idea of beauty under two hun- 
dredweight. 

The hair is a beautiful ornament of woman, but it has 
always been a disputed point which color most becomes it. 
We account red hair an abomination ; but in the time of Eliza- 
beth it found admirers,' and was in fashion. Mary of Scotland, 
though she had exquisite hair of her own, wore what is called 
red fronts. Cleopatra was red-haired ; and the Venetian 
ladies to this day counterfeit yellow hair. 

Lord Shaftesbury asserts that all beauty is truth. True 
features make the beauty of a face ; and true proportions the 
beauty of architecture ; as true measures that of harmony and 
music. In poetry, which is all fable, truth still is the perfec- 
tion. 

It has been well observed, that homely women are often 
altogether the best at heart, head, and soul. A pretty face 
frequently presides over a false heart and a weak head, with the 
smallest shadow of a soul. 

" The bombastic misrepresentations of the encomiasts of Beau- 
ty," observed Ayton, "have exposed her just claims to much 
odium and ill-will. | If a perfect face is the only bait that can 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 297 

tempt an angel from the skies, what is to be the recompense 
of the unfortunate with a wide mouth and a turn-up nose ?/ 
The conduct of men, since the Deluge, has proved, however, 
that love (the true thing) is not mere fealty to a face. If an 
ugly woman of wit and worth cannot be loved till she is known 
— a beautiful fool will cease to please when she is found out." 

" After all, is the world so very absurd in its love of pretty 
women ? Is woman so very ridiculous in her chase after 
beauty ? I A pretty woman is doing woman's work in the world 
— making life sunnier and more beautiful. ^Man has forsworn 
beauty altogether. The world of action is a world of ugliness. 
But woman does for mankind what man has ceased to do. 

Her aim from very childhood is to be beautiful 

There is a charm, however, of life's after-glow over the gray, 
quiet head, the pale, tender face, lit up with a sweetness — a 
pitif ulness that only experience and sorrow can give. It is 
there, at any rate, that we read a subtler and diviner beauty 
than in the rosy cheek of girlhood — a beauty spiritualized, 
mobile with every thought and emotion, yet restful with the 
rest of years. An infinite tenderness and largeness of heart, 
/ a touch that has in it all the gentleness of earth, a smile that 
has in it something of the corapassionateness of heaven-^this 
is the apotheosis of pretty women." 

" The divine right of Beauty," said Junius, " is the only 
divine right a man can acknowledge, and a pretty woman the 
only tyrant he is not authorized to resist." 

" Woman has never failed, since the world began, to illus- 
trate, in instances, the glory of her nature — never ceased to 
manifest the divine in the human. With the regal Esther, 
yearning to bless her enslaved kindred, and the filial-love- 
inspired daughter, who sustained the life of her gray-haired 
father through prison bars,/there have not been parallels want- 
lag in all ages to prove that the angels of God still wander on 



298 THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 

earth, to remind man of Eden, and give him a foretaste of 
heaven. 

Of such type of virtue were Penelope, weaving amid her 
maidens through weary years the web that shielded her virtue, 
until her royal husband returned from his wanderings, and was 
to gladden her heart ; or courteous Rebecca at the well ; or 
timid Ruth, gleaning in the field ; or the Roman Cornelia, 
who, taunted in Rome's decaying age, by rivals, with her 
poverty, held up her virtuous children, exclaiming, " These 
are my jewels ! " Fit woman to have been the mother of the 
Gracchi. 

Richter observes, " A woman's soul is by nature a beautiful 
fresco-painting, painted on rooms, clothes, silver waiters, and 
upon the whole domestic establishment." 

Beautiful women may be admired, but who can refrain from 
loving the impersonation of grace and virtue we every day 
encounter in the charmed circles of domestic life. Love is a 
hallowed passion ; it is angel-like — a gleam of the celestial to 
gladden the dark places of our earthly pilgrimage. The true 
woman has been beautifully described as — 

— "a queen of noble Nature's crowning, 
A smile of hers was like an act of grace ; 
She had no winsome looks, no pretty frowning, 
Like daily beauties of the vulgar race ; 
But if she smiled, a light was on her face ; 
A clear, cool kindliness, a lunar beam 
Of peaceful radiance, silvering in the stream 
Of human thought, of unabiding glory 
Not quite awaking truth, not quite a dream, 
A visitation bright and transitory." * 

D'Israeli observes, " It is at the foot of woman we lay the 
laurels that, without her smile, would never have been gained ; 

* H. Coleridge. 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 299 

it is her image that strings the lyre of the poet, that animates 
the voice in the blaze of eloquent faction, and guides the brain 
in the august toils of stately councils. iWhatever may be the 
lot of man — however unfortunate, however oppressed — if he 
only love and be loved, he must strike a balance in favor of 
existence ; for love can illumine the dark roof of poverty, and 
can lighten the fetters of the slave." / 

" Honored be woman, she beams on the sight 
Graceful and fair like a being of light, 
Scatters around her wherever she straya 
Roses of bliss on our thorn-covered ways, 
Eoses of Paradise fresh from above, 
To be gathered and twined in a garland of love." * 

" Comets, doubtless, answer some wise and good purpose in 
the creation ; so do women. Comets are incomprehensible, 
beautiful, and eccentric ; so are women. Comets shine with 
peculiar splendor, but at night appear most brilliant ; so do 
women. Comets confound the most learned, when they at- 
tempt to ascertain their nature ; so do women. Comets 
equally excite the admiration of the philosopher and of the 
clod of the valley ; so do women. Comets and women, there- 
fore, are closely analogous ; but the nature of both being 
alike inscrutable, all that remains for us is, to view with admi- 
ration the one, and devotedly love the other." f 

It was probably under such hallucination that the following 
confession of returning consciousness was perpetrated : 

"When Eve brought woe to all mankind, 

Old Adam called her wo-ina.n ; 
And when he found she wooed so kind, 

He then pronounced her woo-man. 
But now with smiles and artful wilea, 

Their husbands' pockets trimmin', 
The women are so full of whims. 
That people call them whim-meii.''' 

♦Schiller. + Hood. 



300 THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 

Coleridge used to say " that the most happy marriage ho 
could imagine would be the union of a deaf man with a blind 
woman." Years before he was not so much of a cynic, when 
he wrote those tender lines about the wooing of the love-sick 
Genevie've. 

After all that may be said or sung about it, beauty is an un- 
deniable fact, and its endowment not to be disparaged. Sid- 
ney Smith gives some good advice on the subject : 

" Never teach false morality. How exquisitely absurd to 
teach a girl that beauty is of no value, dress of no use ! 
Beauty is of value — her whole prospects and happiness in life 
may often depend upon a new gown or a becoming bonnet ; if 
she has five grains of common sense, she will find this out. 
The great thing is to teach her their just value, and that there 
must be something better under the bonnet than a pretty face, 
for real happiness. But never sacrifice truth." Instantane- 
ous and universal admiration — the eye-worship of the world is 
unquestionably the reward of the best faces ; and the malcon- 
tents had much better come into the general opinion with a 
good grace, than be making themselves at once unhappy and 
ridiculous, by their hollow and self -betraying recusancy.* Now 
an ill-conditioned countenance, accompanied, as it always is, 
of course, with shining abilities and all the arts of pleasing, 
has this signal compensation — that it improves under observa- 
tion, grows less and less objectionable the more you look into 
it, and the better you know it, till it becomes almost agreeable 
on its own account — nay, really so — actually pretty ; whereas 
beauty, we have seen, witless beauty, cannot resist the test of 
long acquaintance, but declines, as you gaze, while in the full 
pride of its perfection ; " fades on the eye and palls upcn the 
sense," with all its bloom about it. 

* Ayton's Essays. 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 301 

** He that loves a rosy cheek, or a coral lip admires, 

Or from star-like eyes doth seek fuel to maintain his fires, 

As old Time makes these decay 

So his flames must waste away ; 
But a smooth and steadfast mind, gentle thoughts and calm desires, 
Hearts with equal love combined kindle never-dying firea. 

Where these are not, I despise 

Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes." * 

Byron also condenses the same sentiment in a single line — 
" Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes." 

The last word — eyes, and the eloquent language they ex- 
press — has been a prolific theme with the poets. Some have 
dilated on their brilliancy till they have been bewildered and 
blinded to all things else around them, and some are fastidious 
as to their color, size, and expression. One thus describes the 
respective claims of black and blue : 

" Black eyes most dazzle at a ball ; 
Blue eyes most please at evening fall. 
Black a conquest soonest gain ; 
The blue a conquest most retain ; 
The black bespeak a Uvely heart ; 
Whose soft emotions soon depart ; 
The blue a steadier flame betray, 
That bums and lives beyond a day ; 
The black may features best disclose ; 
In blue may feehngs all repose. 
Then let each reign without control, 
The black all mind — the blue all soul." 

Leigh Hunt says of those who have thin lips, and are not 
shrews or niggards — " 1 must give here as my firm opinion, 
founded on what I have observed, that lips become more or 
less contracted in the course of years, in proportion as they are 

* Carew. 



302 THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 

accustomed to express good humor and generosity, or peevish 
ness and a contracted mind. Remark the effect which a mo- 
ment of ill-humor and grudgingness has upon the lips, and 
judge what may be expected from an habitual series of such 
moments. Remark the reverse, and make a similar judgment. 
The mouth is the frankest part of the face ; it can the least 
conceal its sensations. We can hide neither ill-temper with it 
nor good ; we may affect what we please, but affectation will 
not help us. In a wrong cause it will only make our observers 
resent the endeavor to impose upon them. The mouth is the 
seat of one class of emotions, as the eyes are of another ; or 
rather, it expresses the same emotions but in greater detail, and 
with a more irrepressible tendency to be in motion. It is the 
region of smiles and dimples, and of trembling tenderness ; 
of a sharp sorrow, of a full breathing jo}'-, of candor, of reserve, 
of a carking care, of a liberal sympathy." 

" There is a charm that, brighter grows mid beauty's swift decay, 
And o'er the heart a glory throws that will not fade away. 
When beauty's voice and beauty's glance the heart no longer move, 
This holy charm will still entrance, and wake the spirit's love." 

Long hair in woman is an essential element of beauty. The 
Roman ladies generally wore it long, and dressed it in a variety 
of ways, bedecking it with gold, silver, pearls, and other orna- 
ments. 

The custom of decking the hair with pearls and gems, al- 
though not a modern invention, is still in vogue with royalty 
and courtly circles ; yet the author of The Honeymoon thus 
repudiates the fashion : 

— " Thus modestly attired, 
A half -blown rose stuck in thy braided hair, 
With no more diamonds than those eyes. are made of, 
No deeper rubies than compose thy lips, 
Nor pearls more precious than inhabit them ; 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 303 

With the pure red and white, which that same hand 
Which blends the rainbow mingles in thy cheeks ; 
This well-proportioned form (think not I flatter) 
In graceful motion to harmonious sounds, 
And thy free tresses dancing in the wind, 
Thou'lt fix as much observance as chaste dames 
Can meet without a blush." 

The Koman patrician ladies had numerous slaves chiefly ap- 
pointed to attend their toilette. Their hair used to be per- 
fumed and powdered with gold dust. 

Of all the articles of luxury and ostentation known to the 
Romans, pearls seem to have been the most esteemed. They 
were worn on all parts of the dress, and such was the diversity 
of their size, purity, and value, that they were found to suit all 
classes from those of moderate to those of the most colossal 
fortune. The pearl earrings of Cleopatra are said to have been 
of fabulous value. After pearls and diamonds, the emerald 
held the highest place in the estimation of the Romans. 

In France, during the reign of Louis XIY. the use of dia- 
monds revived. Robes were embroidered with them, besides 
forming necklaces, aigrettes, bracelets, etc. This costly fash- 
ion subsided about the end of the French Revolution. 

The favorites of fortune are too frequently the servile vota- 
ries of fashion, and this passion for dress entails many social 
evils. While it fosters imperious pride in its votaries, it de- 
stroys all the finer sensibilities of our nature. The gentle hand 
of charity, that ministers to the children of want, belongs not 
to the flaunting lady of fashion ; her ambition is rather to daz- 
zle and bewilder the gazing, thoughtless multitude — to become 
the " cynosure of all eyes." To such the luxury of doing good 
is unknown ; self is the idol they adore and worship, and it is 
idolatry of the worst type. 

" There are certain moralists in the world, who labor under 



304: THE TOILETTE AliD ITS DEVOTEES. 

the impression that it is no matter what people wear, or hovi 
they pat on their apparel. Such people cover themselves up 
— they do not dress. No one doubts that the mind is more im- 
portant than the body, the jewel than the setting ; and yet the 
virtue of the one and the brilliancy of the other are enhanced 
by the mode in which they are presented to the senses. Let a 
woman have every virtue under the sun, if she is slatternly, or 
even inappropriate in her dress, her merits will be more than 
half obscured. If, being young, she is untidy, or, being old, 
fantastic, or slovenly, her mental qualifications stand a chance 
of being passed over with indifference." * 

A right loyal scribe thus enacts the champion for beauty ; 
' Plain women were formerly so common that they were termed 
ordinary, to signify the frequency of their occurrence; in 
these happier days the phrase extraordma,rj would be more ap- 
plicable. However parsimonious, or even cruel, Nature may 
have been in other respects, they all cling to admiration by 
some solitary tenure that redeems them from the unqualified 
imputation of unattractiveness. One has an eye that, like, 
charity, covers a multitude of sins ; another, like Samson, boasts 
her strength in her hair ; a third holds you spell-bound by her 
teeth ; a fourth is a Cinderella, who wins hearts by her pretty 
little foot; a fifth makes an irresistible appeal from her face to 
her figure." But — 

' ' A woman with a beaming face, but with a heart tmtrae, 
Though beautiful, is valueless as diamonds formed of dew." 

The true art of assisting beauty consists in embellishing the 
whole person by the proper ornaments of virtuous and com- 
mendable qualities. By this help alone it is that those who 
are the favorites of Nature become animated, and are in a cap- 
acity for exerting a controlling influence ; and those who seem 

* Chambers. 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 305 

to have been neglected by her, like models wrought in haste, 
are capable, in a great measure, of finishing what she has left 
imperfect. 

Chevreul remarks : " Drapery of a lustreless white, sudi as 
cambric muslin, assorts well with a fresh complexion, of which 
it relieves the rose color ; but it is unsuitable to complexions 
which have a disagreeable tint, because white always exalts all 
colors by raising their tone ; consequently, it is unsuitable to 
those skins which, without having this disagreeable tint, very 
nearly approach it. Yery light white draperies, such as point 
lace, have an entirely different aspect. Black draperies, low- 
ering the tone of the colors with which they are in juxtaposi- 
tion, whiten the skin ; but if the vermilion or rosy parts are to 
a certain point distant from the drapery, it will follow that, al- 
though lowered in tone, they appear relatively to the white 
parts of the skin contiguous to this same drapery, redder than 
if the contiguity to the black did not exist." 

" If JSTature has given man a strong instinct to dress, says a 
writer in tlie Quarterly Review, " it is because she has given 
him woman as an object for it; whatever, therefore, maybe 
the outward practice of the present day, the moral foundation 
is right. She dresses herself to please him, and he dresses her to 
please himself; and this is a distinction between the two which 
may apply to more subjects than that of dress j'^ 

Yet by nothing, perhaps, save his boasted reason, is man 
more signally distinguished from the lower orders of creation, 
than by the decorations of the toilet — the drapery and various 
appendages with which he invests his person. So universal is 
the custom among all civilized communities, that an individual 
would as soon think of intermitting his necessary food as to at- 
tempt to infringe upon the claims of so irreversible a decree. 
Some there are, it is true, of more pristine habits, whose un- 
sophisticated tastes induce a preference for the purely natural 



306 THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 

over the artilicial in this respect, — a state of nature, to that of 
art : but these belong to the untutored and the rude of savage 
life, and therefore the less said about them the better. There 
is, moreover, less of the feeling of compulsion in complying 
with the requisition, from the prevalent passion for adornment 
and decoration, to which all are, in a greater or less degree, 
inclined. It seems somewhat strange that Nature, in her 
lavish distribution of fleece, and fur, and gaudy plumage, should 
have left the monarch of all mundane creatures in a state of 
destitution, which it so sorely taxes his purse to supply ; but 
such is the fact, and against it there is no appeal. The world 
has been long accustomed to do homage to elegance and refine- 
ment in costume ; it is not surprising, therefore, that it should 
have become a matter of such universal regard. 

Pride of personal appearance is naturally one result of a 
passion for dress, which is alike evinced by the rude trappings 
of the savage and the gorgeous appendages of refinement and 
luxury : 

" Because you flourish in worldly affairs, 
Don't be haughty and put on airs, 

With insolent pride of station ; 
Don't be proud and turn up your nose, 
At poorer people, in plainer clothes, 
But learn, for the sake of your mind's repose. 
That Wealth's a bubble that comes and goes ! 
And that all Proud Flesh, wherever it grows. 
Is subject to irritation." * 

It is in fact difiicult to determine whether the same may not 
be affirmed of those who affect the greatest simplicity in their 
habiliments — for it is not certain that the Quaker, even, is 
wholly divested of vanity, although he may be of the finery 
he repudiates. 

* Saxe. 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 307 

If any fair nymph is in quest of further details as to the ac- 
cessories of the toilette, here is ready prepared a catalogue of 
moral cosmetics : 

An enchanted mirror Self-knowledge. 

Lip-salve Truth. 

Eye-water Compassion. 

For the voice Prayer. 

For wrinkles Contentment. 

An elastic girdle Patience. 

Solid gold ring Principle. 

Pearl necklace Resignation. 

Diamond breast-pin Love. 

Fashion, the veriest despot in her decrees, arbitrates through 
the agency of her devotees — the milliner, the modiste, and the 
tailor — the style and manner of one's habiliments ; and so 
absolute is her sway in this matter, that it is difficult, perhaps, 
to indicate any class who may boast exemption from her juris- 
diction. 

Fashion rules the world, and a most tyrannical mistress she 
is — compelling people to submit to the most inconvenient 
things imaginable, for her sake. 

She pinches our feet with tight shoes — or chokes us with a 
tight handkerchief, or squeezes the breath out of our bodies by 
tight lacing; she makes people sit up by night when they 
ought to be in bed, and keeps them in bed when they ought to 
be up. She makes it vulgar to wait on one's self, and genteel 
to live idle and useless. She makes people visit when they 
would rather be at home, eat when they are not hungry, and 
drink when they are not thirsty. She invades our pleasure 
and interrupts our business. She compels people to dress gayly 
— whether upon their own property or that of others. She 
ruins health and produces sickness — destroys life and occasions 
premature death. She makes foolish parents, invalids of chil- 
dren, and servants of us all. She is a tormentor of conscience, 
despoiler of morality, an enemy to religion, and no one can be 



308 THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 

her companion and enjoy either. She is a despot of the high- 
est grade, full of intrigue and cunning — and yet husbands, 
wives, fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, and servants all strive 
to see who shall be most obsequious. Fashion obtains in all 
countries — there being ever some Beau Brummells at hand to 
issue her mandates and illustrate her Protean shapes and end- 
less metamorphoses. 

" Oh, Fashion ! it were vain indeed to try your wondrous flights to follow: 
Onward at such a pace you speed, beating the Belle Assemblee hollow. 
One moment ho-vering in our coats to change the cutting of the skirts : 
Then with rude grasp you seize our throats, altering the collars of our shirts ; 
Now trimming up with ribbons gay, and flowers as weU, a lady's bonnet; 
Then with rash hand tearing away each bit of finery ujjon it. 
Shrouding one day the arm from sight, in sleeve so large that six might 

share it ; 
And making it next month so tight, 'tis scarcely possible to bear it. 
Upon a lady's dress again, with arbitrary hand ib pounces. 
Making it one day meanly plain, then idly loading it with flounces." 

There are few things that have not been done, and few 
things that have not been worn, under the sanction of fashion. 
What could exhibit a more fantastical appearance than an 
English beau of the fourteenth century? He wore long, 
pointed shoes, fastened to his knee by gold or silver chains ; 
hose of one color on one leg, and another color on the other ; a 
coat, the one half white, and the other black or blue ; a long 
silk hood, buttoned under his chin, embroidered with grotesque 
figures of animals, dancing men, etc. This dress was the 
height of the mode in the reign of Edward III. In view of 
such facts, shall we upbraid woman for her vanity and love of 
finery ? 

Leigh Hunt informs us that fashions have a short life or a 
long one, according as it suits the makers to startle us with a 
variety, or save themselves observation of a defect. Hence 



THE TOILETTE AKD ITS DEVOTEES. 309 

fashions set by young or handsome people are fugitive, and 
such are usually those that bring custom to the milliner. 

The Edinburgh Review observes: "Peculiarities of dress, 
even amounting to foppery, so common among eminent men, 
are carried off from ridicule by ease in some, or stateliness in 
others. "We may smile at Chatham, scrupulously crowned in 
his best wig, if intending to speak ; at Erskine, drawing on his 
bright yellow gloves, before he rose to plead ; at Horace "VVal- 
pole, in a cravat of Gibbon's carvings ; at Raleigh loading his 
shoes with jewels so heavy that he could scarcely walk; at 
Petrarch, pinching his feet till he crippled them ; at the rings 
which covered the philosophical fingers of Aristotle ; at the 
bare throat of Byron ; the Armenian dress of Pousseau ; the 
scarlet and gold coat of Voltaire ; or the prudent carefulness 
with which Caesar scratched his head, so as not to disturb the 
locks arranged over the bald place. But most of these men, 
we apprehend, found it easy to enforce respect and curb imper- 
tinence. 

It would be impossible to enter upon the details of a subject 
so copious in its historic data : nor can we attempt to go into a 
minute examination of the prodigal magnificence of the ward- 
robe of distinguished personages, but must confine our remarks 
to more modern fashions. 

A recent writer says he likes " flounces when they wave and 
flow, as in a very light material — muslin, or gauze, or barege — 
when a lady has no outline and no mass, but looks like a reced- 
ins: ano;el or a ' dissolvino; view : ' but he does not like them in 
a rich material, where they flop, or in a stiff one where they 
bristle ; and where they break the flowing lines of the petticoat, 
and throw light and shade where you do not expect them to 
exist." 

" The amply-folding robe, cast round the harmonious form ; 
the modest clasp and zone on the bosom ; the braided hair, or 



310 THE TOILETTE AKD ITS DEVOTEES. 

the veiled head — these were the fashions alike of the wife of a 
Phocion and the mistress of an Alcibiades. A chastened taste 
ruled at their toilets ; and from that hour to this, the forms and 
modes of Greece have been those of the poet, the sculptor, and 
the painter. The flowing robe, the easy shape, the soft, unfet- 
tered hair, gave place to skirts shortened for flight or contest — 
to the hardened vest, and head buckled in gold or silver." 

Thence, by a natural descent, we have the iron bodice, stiff 
farthingale, and spiral coiffure of the middle ages. The courts 
of Charlemagne, of Edward, Henry, and Elizabeth, all exhibit 
the figures of women as if in a state of siege. Such lines of 
circumvallation and outwork ; such impregnable bulwarks of 
whalebone, wood, and steel ; such impassable mazes of gold, 
silver, silk, and furbelows, met a man's view, that, before he 
had time to guess it was a woman that he saw, she had passed 
from his sight ; and he only formed a vague wish on the sub- 
ject, by hearing, from an interested father or brother, that the 
moving castle was one of the softer sex. 

These preposterous fashions disappeared in England a short 
time after the Restoration : 

" What thought, what various numbers can express 
The inconstant equipage of woman's dress. " 

It is not SO much the richness of the material as the way it 
is made up, and the manner in which it is worn, that give the 
desired elegance. A neat fit, a graceful bearing, and a proper 
harmony between the complexion and the colors, have more to 
do with heightening woman's attractions than many are willing 
to believe. 

Attention to a few general rules would prevent a great 
many anomalous appearances ; for instance, " a woman should 
never be dressed too little, nor a girl too much — nor should a 
woman of small stature attempt large patterns, nor a bad 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 311 

walker flounces — nor a short throat carry feathers, nor high 
shoulders a shawl. From the highest to the lowest, there is 
not a single style of beauty with which the plain straw hat is 
not upon the best understanding. It refines the homeliest and 
composes the wildest — it gives the coquettish young lady a 
little dash of demureness, and the demure one a slight touch 
of coquetry — it makes the blooming beauty look more fresh, 
and the pale one more interesting — it makes the plain woman 
look, at all events, a lady, and the lady more lady-like still." 
Then all the sweet associations that throng about it ! pic- 
tures of happy childhood and unconscious girlhood — thoughts 
of blissful bridal tours and of healthy country life. Bonnets, 
too, are an index of character. Some wag has furnished the 
following " Recipe for a bonnet," free of cost : 

' ' Two scraps of foundation, some fragments of lace, 
A shower of French rosebuds to droop o'er the face; 
Fine ribbons and feathers, with crape and illusion, 
Then mix and de-range them in graceful confusion ; 
Inveigle some fairy, out roaming for pleasure, 
And beg the slight favor of taking her measure ; 
The length and breadth of her dear little pate, 
And hasten a miniature frame to create ; 
Then pour, as above, the bright mixture upon it, 
And lo ! you possess ' such a love of a bonnet.' " 

In searching for some of the absurdities of the toilet, we meet 
with the following. The ladies of Japan are said to gild their 
teeth, and those of the Indies to paint them red, while in 
Guzerat the test of beauty is to render them sable. In Green- 
land, the women used to color their faces with blue and yellow. 
The Chinese must torture their feet into the smallest possible 
dimensions — a proof positive of their contracted understandings. 
The ancient Peruvians, and some of our Indian tribes, used to 
flatten their heads ; and among other nations, the mothers, in 
a similar way, maltreat the noses of their offspi-iug. 



312 THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 

Rings are of remote origin ; their use is mentioned by many 
of the classic writers, and also in the Scriptures. 

The armlet or bracelet is also of equal antiquity ; its adoption 
is referred to in the Book of Genesis. Ear-rings, or, as they 
were formerly styled, pendants, are worn by most nations, and, 
in many instances, by both sexes. In the East Indies they are 
unusually large, and are generally of gold and jewels. 

Of head-dresses, the earliest kind upon record seems to have 
been the tiara ; the caul is also mentioned, in Holy Writ, as hav- 
ing been in vogue in primitive times. It was usually made of 
network, of gold or silk, and enclosed all the hair. Some of the 
various items of a lady's wardrobe it will not be our Venture 
to dilate upon ; we may, however, just refer to the corsets. 
Tradition insists that corsets were first invented by a brutal 
butcher of the thirteenth century, as a punishment for his wife. 
She was very loquacious, and, finding nothing would cure her, 
he put corsets on her, in order to take away her breath, and so 
prevent her, as he thought, from talking. This cruel punish- 
ment was inflicted by other heartless husbands The punish- 
ment became so universal at last, that the ladies in their defence 
made a fashion of it, and so it has continued to the present day. 
The fair sex of our own day seem economic in this respect, for 
however prodigal they may be in other matters, they are for 
the least possible waist. Soemmering enumerates a catalogue 
of ninety-six diseases resulting from this stringent habit among 
them ; many of the most frightful maladies — cancer, asthma, 
and consumption are among them. Such unnatural compres- 
sion, moreover, seems to indicate a very limited scope for the 
play of the affections, for what room is there for any heart at 
all? As if to atone for brevity of waist, the ladies indulge, 
then, in an amplitude of skirt. The merry dames of Elizabeth's 
court, in a wild spirit of fun, adopted the fashion of hideously 
deforming farthingales to ridicule the enormous trunk-hose 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 313 

worn by gentlemen of that period — determined, if not success- 
ful in shaming away that absurdity, at least to have a prepos- 
terous contrivance of their own. The idea was full of woman's 
wit. But, alas ! they were caught in their own snare. Pre- 
cious stones were profusely displayed on the bodices and skirts 
of brocade gowns, and vanity soon discovered that the stiff 
whalebone framework under the upper skirt formed an excel- 
lent showcase for family jewels. The passion thus gratified, 
the farthingale at once became the darling of court costume, 
and in its original shape continued in feminine favor till the 
reign of Queen Anne, when it underwent the modification 
lately revived for us — the Hoop. In vain did the Spectator 
lash and ridicule by turns the " unnatural disguisement ; " in 
vain did grossest caricatures appear and wits exhaust their 
invention in lampoons and current epigrams ; in vain even the 
publication of a grave pamphlet, entitled The Enormous 
Ahomination of the Hoop Petticoat, as the Fashion now is ; 
the mode, for once immutable, stands on the page of folly an 
enduring monument of feminine persistency. 

Encouraged by the prolonged and indisputed sway of the 
farthingale, the hoop maintained an absolute supremacy through 
the three succeeding reigns, though often undergoing changes 
which only served to make it more and morei ridiculous. The 
most ludicrous of these alterations were the triangular-shaped 
hoops, which, according to the Spectator, gave a lady all the 
appearance of being in a go-cart ; and the " pocket-hoops," 
which look like nothing so much as panniers on the side of a 
donkey — we mean the quadruped. Quite a funny incident is 
related by Bulwer about the wife of an English ambassador 
to Constantinople, in the time of James I. The lady, attended 
by her serving- women, all attired in enormous farthingales, 
\\'-aited upon the sultana, who received them with every show 
of respect and hospitality. Soon, however, the woman's 



314 THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 

curiosity got the better of her courtesy, and expressing het 
great surprise at the monstrous development of their form, 
she asked if it were possible that such could be the shape pecu- 
liar to the women of England. The English lady in reply has- 
tened to assure her that their forms in nowise differed from 
those of the women of other countries, and carefully demon- 
strated to her Highness the construction of their dress, which 
alone bestowed the appearance so puzzling to her. There could 
scarcely be a more wholesome satire upon the absurd fashion 
than is conveyed in the simple recital of this well-authenticated 
anecdote. 

" It was but a year or two ago that complaints were lo*id 
against the amplitude of ladies' dresses. The extent of ground 
they covered was almost fabulous, and the consequent cost of 
a gown was a serious item of expenditure, and alarmed young 
men and old. The young feared an entanglement which 
might lead to matrimony, when a lady's dress was so costly, 
and their means were not great ; and their elders looked with 
apprehension upon a state of things which, if it should find its 
way into their homes, would paralyze all their energies and 
exhaust their resources. But now the complaint is that, while 
the dresses are plain in front, they have such immense trains 
that they actually interfere with the enjoyment of the public. 
A lady who walks in the Park with a long train trailing be- 
hind her in the dust and dirt, occupies so much space that no 
one dares to follow within three or four yards of her. Imag- 
ine, then, what the inconvenience must be in large assemblies 
within doors, where space is not illimitable, and where the 
trains are even longer than <liose for morning wear. The 
inconvenience has been felt to such a degree that it has given 
rise to a different kind of costume for those who care for walk- 
ing exercise, and dislike equally to hold up their dress, and to 
suffer it to sweep the ground Their costume consists of a 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 315 

petticoat, a short dress which shows the petticoat, and a kind 
of cloak or mantle to match." * 

But, leaving the hoops dragging along the dusty avenues of 
the long-trodden past, with all the accumulated ridicule of 
affes clino-ino; to its skirts, let us be thankful that the decrees 
of Fashion have at length forbidden their further extension 
and expansion amongst us. 

Feminine fashions repeat themselves. In Pepys' Journal, 
1662, he says, " The women wear doublets, coats, and great 
shirts, just for all the world like mine ; so that was it not for a 
long petticoat draggling under their skirts, nobody could take 
them for women in any way whatever." 

Another impeachment concerning cosmetics we find levied 
by John Evelyn, in his Diary (1654), where he says : " I now 
observe that the women began to paint themselves, formerly a 
most ignominious thing." In the question of face-painting 
there is neither right nor wrong ; it belongs to the inferior con- 
siderations of pretty or ugly, and it cannot be treated on serious 
grounds. "Well, be it so ; and when 

" Affectation, with a sickly mien. 
Shows on her cheek the roses of eighteen," 

let US only inquire why she does it ? She does it unblush 
ingly, as might be expected, but does she do it to command 
admiration ? Of course we speak of the painters of to-day, 
not of those who belonged to a past generation. 

Not long since it was the fashion to dye the hair red and 
gold, and make the skin white with paint, the cheeks pink 
with rouge, and the eyelids stained ; but now this capricious 
goddess, whom fine ladies worship with such devotion, prefers 
dark hair and olive complexions, and the rage is now for brown 

* Saturday Review. 



816 THE TOILETTE AM) ITS DEVOTEES. 

washes as it used to be for white. The blue-black hair and 
dark skin of the gypsy have become the envy of the ladies of 
fashion, and they hope, by means of washes and dies, to make 
themselves " beautiful forever." * 

The head-dresses of the fair sex in our memorable year, 
1Y76, were sometimes simply remarkable for their enormous 
heio-ht. Fashion ruled its votaries then as arbitrarily as in 
our day ; the coiffure of a belle of fashion was described as " a 
mountain of wool, hair, powder, lawn, muslin, net, lace, gauze, 
ribbon, flowers, feathers, and wire." Sometimes these varied 
materials were built up tier upon tier, like the stages of a 
pagoda ! 

" If we were called upon to say what is the distinctive char- 
acteristic of the age in which we live, we should be inclined to 
designate it as an age of shams. Unreality creeps into every- 
thing. The gravest matters are tainted with it. Even in 
religion, where unrealities should find no place, there is con- 
tention about externals which are devoid of any real meaning. 
Bishops and clergy contend for pastoral staffs and vestments, 
when they no longer have the things they symbolize. Lan- 
guage is made to conceal the truth, and exaggeration distorts 
it. Professions of friendship are hollow, and treachery under- 
mines the closest ties. In the political world we hear it for- 
ever stated that parties are betrayed by ther chiefs, and that 
principle is at a discount. And in the smaller details of life 
we find that, instead of the instincts of nature rebelling against 
anything that is unreal, there is an appetite for it ; that shams 
are in favor, and that every one is attracted by them rather 
than otherwise. 

In the ma:ter now before us we find this to be especially the 
case. False hair, false color, false ears, are used without 

* London Societr. 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 317 

compunction where they are considered to be needed. The 
consequence is that woman has become an imposture. We 
do not, of course, refer to those perfectly innocent embellish- 
ments which relate to the preference of one dress for another, 
or for one style for another. These are most legitimate and 
innocent. We refer to those impostures in dress by which 
things seem to be wliich are not, and the adoption of which is 
in itself a great indignity to the whole race of womankind. 
No one is bound to dress herself unbecomingly ; but, on the 
contrary, is more than justified in making the best use of 
Nature's gifts. Our protest is against the introduction of nov- 
elties by which women are taught to impose upon the world, 
which cannot fail to have a demoralizing influence over them, 
and which desecrate that modesty which is the best jewel a 
woman can wear." * 

In the early ages of Christianity, gloves were a part of mon- 
astic custom, and, in later periods, formed a part of the episco- 
pal habit. The glove was employed by princes as a token of 
investiture ; and to deprive a person of his gloves was a mark 
of divesting him of his ofiice. Throwing down a glove or 
gauntlet constituted a challenge, and the taking it up an ac- 
ceptance. 

Fans have become, in many countries, so necessary an append- 
age of the toilet with both sexes, that a word respecting them 
in this place seems demanded. The use of them was first dis- 
covered in the East, where the heat suggested their utility. In 
the Greek Church a fan is placed in the hands of the deacons, 
in the ceremony of their ordination, in allusion to a part of 
their ofiice in that Church, which is to keep the flies off the 
priests during the celebration of the sacrament. In Japan, 
where neither men nor women wear hats, except as a protection 

* London Society. 



318 THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 

against rain, a fan is to be seen in the hand or the girdle of 
every inhabitant. Visitors receive dainties offered them upon 
their fans : the beggar, imploring charity, holds out his fan for 
the alms his prayers may obtain. In England, this seemingly 
indispensable article was almost unknown till the age of Eliza- 
beth. During the reign of Charles II. they became pretty 
generally used. At the present day, they are in universal re- 
quisition. Hats and bonnets are of remote antiquity : it is dif- 
ficult to say when they took their rise. Of perfumeries, also, 
little need be said ; they were always, like flowers, artificial 
and real, favorites with the fair, as they ever should be. 

In beings so near perfection as the fair sex, it is invidious to 
point out defects, and we refrain from such audacity. Punch 
affirms, " there are several things which you never can by any 
chance get a lady — be she young or old — to confess to." Here 
are some of them : " That she laces tight ; that her shoes are 
too small for her ; that she is ever tired at a ball ; that she 
paints ; that she is as old as she looks ; that she has been more 
than five minutes dressing ; that she has kept you waiting ; 
that she blushed when a certain person's name was mentioned ; 
that she ever says a thing she doesn't mean ; that she is fond of 
scandal ; that she can't keep a secret ; that she — she of all 
persons in the world — is in love ; that she doesn't want a new 
bonnet ; that she can do with one single thing less when she is 
about to travel ; that she hasn't the disposition of an angel, or 
the temper of a saint — or how else could she go through one- 
half of what she does ? that she doesn't know better than every 
one else what is best for her ; that she is a flirt or a coquette ; 
that she is ever in the wrong." 

A curious corresr />ndent in Notes and Queries observes that, 
notwithstanding tx^e mutations of fashion in England, some old 
habits are still retained with great tenacity. " The Thames 
watermen rejoice in the dress of the age of Elizabeth, while 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 319 

the royal beef -eaters (biiffetiers) wear that of private soldiers 
of the time of Henry VII. ; the blue-coat boy, the costume of 
the reign of Edward YI. ; and the London charity-school girls 
the plain mob cap and long gloves of the time of Queen Anne. 
In the brass badge of the cabman we see a retention of a dress 
of Elizabethan retainers, while the shoulder-knots that once 
decked an officer now adorn a footman. The attire of a sailor 
of the reign of William III. is now seen among our fishermen. 
The university dress is as old as the age of the Smithfield mar- 
tyrs. The linen bands of the pulpit and the bar are abridg- 
ments of the falling collar." Shoes with very long points, full 
two feet in length, were invented by Henry Plantagenet, Duke 
of Anjou, to conceal an excrescence on one of his feet. 
Others, on the contrary, adopted fashions to set off their pe- 
culiar beauties — as Isabella of Bavaria, remarkable for her 
gallantry and the fairness of her complexion, who introduced 
the fashion of leaving the shoulders and part of the neck un- 
covered. 

A shameful extravagance in dress has been a most venerable 
folly in spite of the enactment of sumptuary laws. In the reign 
of Richard II., the dress was sumptuous beyond belief. Sir 
John Arundel had a change of no less than fifty-two new suits 
of cloth of gold tissue. Brantome records of Elizabeth, Queen 
of Philip II. of Spain, that she never wore a gown twice. It 
cannot be denied that the votaries of fashion too often starve 
their happiness to feed their vanity and pride. A passion for 
dress is nothing new ; a satirist thus lampoons the ladies ()f his 
day: 

' ' What is the reason — can you ^ess, 

Why men are poor, and women thinner ? 
So much do they for dinner dress, 
That nothing's left to dress for dinner." 

It is not women alone that evince a proclivity in this direo 



320 THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 

tion ; there are as many coxcombs in the world as coquettes. 
The folly is more reprehensible in the fonner than the latter 
because it has even less show of excuse. 

Leigh Hunt says : " Beauty too often sacrifices to fashion.. 
The spirit of fashion is not the beautiful, but the wilful ; not 
the graceful, but the fantastic ; not the superior in the abstract, 
but the superior in the worst of all concretes — the vulgar. It 
is the vulgarity that can afford to shift and vary itself, opposed 
to the vulgarity that longs to do so, but cannot. Tlie high 
point of taste and elegance is to be sought for, not in the most 
fashionable circles, but in the best-bred, and such as can dis- 
pense with the eternal necessity of never being the same thing."" 

The mere devotees of Fashion have been defined as a class- 
of would-be-refined people, perpetually struggling in a race to 
escape from the fancied vulgar. Neatness in our costume i& 
needful to our self-respect ; a person thinks better of himself 
when neatly clad, and others form a similar estimate of him. 
It has been quaintly said that " A coat is a letter of credit 
written with a needle upon broadcloth." 

Character is indexed by costume. First impressions are 
thus formed which are not easily obliterated. Taste and neat 
ness in dress distinguish the refined from the vulgar. Persons 
of rude feelings are usually roughly attired ; they evince none 
of the grace and delicacy of the cultivated in intellect, morals 
and manners. 

Pride, like laudanum, and other poisonous medicines, is 
beneficial in small, though injurious in large quantities. No 
man, who is not pleased with himself, even in a personal sense, 
can please others, for it is the belief of his own grace that 
makes him graceful and gracious. If it be a recommendation 
to dress our minds to the best advantage, and to render our- 
selves as agreeable as possible, why should it be an objectioD 
to bestow the same pains upon our personal appearance ? 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES, 321 

Girard, the famous French painter, when very young, was 
the bearer of a letter of introduction to Lanjuinais, then of the 
Council of Napoleon. The young painter was shabbily attired, 
and his reception was extremely cold ; but Lanjuinais discov- 
ered in him such striking proofs of talent, good sense, and 
amiability, that on Girard's rising to take leave, he rose too, and 
accompanied his visitor to the ante-chamber. The change was 
so striking that Girard could not avoid an expression of sur- 
prise. " My young friend," said Lanjuinais, anticipating the 
inquiry, " we receive an unknown person according to his dress 
— we take leave of him according to his merit." 

Ben Jonson, in one of his plays, expresses the same opinion : 

" Believe it, sir, 
That clothes do much upon the wit, as weather 
Does on the brain ; and thence, sir, comes your proverb, 
The tailor makes the man. " 

One of our greatest historians says : " Dress is characteristic 
of manners, and manners are the mirror of ideas." 

Old coats are essential to the ease of the body and mind ; 
and some of the greatest achievements of men have been exe- 
cuted when the owners w^ere in rags. Napoleon wore an old, 
seedy coat during the whole of the Russian campaign; and 
Wellington wore one out at the elbow at Waterloo. Poets are 
proverbial for their penchant for seedy garments. 

" A hat is the symbol and characteristic of its wearer. It is 
a sign and token of his avocation, habits, and opinions — the 
creature of his phantasy. Minerva-like, it bursts forth in full 
maturity from his brain. Extravagance, pride, cold-hearted- 
ness, and vulgarity, with many other of the ruling passions, may 
be detected by its form and fashion. One may ascertain 
whether a man is whimsical, grotesque, or venially flexible in 
his taste, by this test. Much may be deduced from the style 
in which it is worn." 



322 THE TOILETTE AOT) ITS DEVOTEES. 

The celebrated poet and professor, Buschin, who was very 
careless in his dress, went out in his dressing-gown, and met in 
the street a citizen with whom he was acquainted. The gen- 
tleman, however, passed him, without even raising his hat. 
Divining the cause, the poet hastened home, and put on a cloak 
of velvet and ermine, in which he again went out, and con- 
trived once more to moet the same citizen, who this time raised 
his hat, and bowed profoundly. This made the poet still more 
angry, when he saw that his velvet cloak claimed more respect 
than his professorship and poetical fame. He hastened home, 
threw his cloak on the floor, and stamped on it, saying, " Art 
thou Buschin, or am I ? " 

It is a well-known fact that ladies seldom become gray, while 
the heads of the "lords of creation" are often early in life 
either bald or gray — sometimes both. Douglas Jerrold tells a 
piquant joke as follows: " At a private party in London, a lady 
— who, though in the autumn of life, had not lost all dreams 
of its spring — said to Jerrold, ' I cannot imagine what makes 
my hair turn gray ; I sometimes fancy it must be the " essence 
of rosemary " with which my maid is in the habit of brushing 
it.' ' I should rather be afraid, madam,' replied the dramatist, 
* that it is the essence of Time ' (thyme)." 

" What is life — the flourishing array 
Of the proud summer meadow which to-day 
Wears her green flush, and is to-morrow hay." 

Compared with earlier times, with some slight exceptions, 
our modern costume certainly has the preeminence : it has 
been said that to this cause is to be attributed the seeming ab- 
sence, in our day, of any transcendent instances of remarkable 
beauty in the fair sex : all may be made up attractively where 
even Nature has been niggard of her endowments. Dress con- 
fers dignity and self-satisfaction, besides possessing the advan- 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 323 

tage of attractiveness. "We are startled to hear a man well 
attired use vulgar speech, but our amazement is materially less- 
ened if the party be attached to a very menial employment 
and is enveloped in meaner clothes. Over-fastidiousness at the 
toilet is, nevertheless, an evil equally to be deprecated : a fop 
is as much to be despised as a slattern or shrew — both are ob- 
noxious to good taste. t* 

Prompted by their loyalty to woman, we find the poets have 
ever made her charms the inspiring theme of their muse ; not, 
however, in the realm of song merely has she been celebrated : 
sober writers in prose have been scarcely less enthusiastic in 
their laudations. Jeremy Taylor styles woman " the precious 
porcelain of human clay." Not only is she potent in physical 
■endowment — hers is the more enduring excellence of moral 
beauty, for her heart is the home of the virtues ; and while 
the fascinations of her personal beauty captivate the sense, our 
grateful love and veneration do willing homage to her moral 
excellence and worth. Therefore, with one who felt the mys- 
tic power of her bewildering charms, we exclaim — 

"Denied the smile from partial beauty won, 
Oh, what were man — a world without a sun I " 

We yet instinctively yield to tlie still more potent influence 
of her enduring love, her patient faith, and the nameless clus- 
ters of graces which constitute her moral beauty. 
* It was a pertinent and forcible saying of the Emperor Na- 
poleon that " a handsome woman pleases the eye, but a good 
W'Oman pleases the heart. The one is a jewel, and the other 
the casket." 

A contemporary poet has epitomized it all in two flowing 
stanzas : 

' ' What's a fair or noble face, if the mind ignoble be ? 
What though Beauty, in each grace, may her own resemblance see I 
Eyes may catch from heaven their spell, hps the ruby's light recall ; 
In the Home for Love to dweU one gnod feeling's worth them alL 



324 



THE TOILETTE AND ITS DEVOTEES. 



" Give me Virtue's rose to trace, honor's Tn'nrniTig glance and mien. 
Howsoever plain the face, Beauty is where these are seen ! 
Raven ringlets o'er the snow of the whitest neck may fall ; 
In the Home for love we know one good feeling's worth them aU ! " 

Beauty being the theme with which our chapter commenced, 
it should also conclude it. "We sum up the case, then, as legal 
gentlemen have it, in the words of an American poetess : 

" Thou wert a worship in the ages olden, 

Thou bright-veiled image of divinity, 
Crowned with such gleams, imperial auvl golden, 

As Phidias gave to immortality I 
A type exquisite of the pure Ide?l, 

Forth shadowed in perfect loveliness — 
Embodied and existent in the Real, 

A perfect shape to kneel before and bleas." 





THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 



Which side do yoii propose to advocate ? Is it better to make 
self the common centre, to which all conceivable interests are 
to converge ; or, like the sun, to diffuse all around the genial 
glow of generous sympathy for others ? Do j^ou demur to the 
form of the proposition, as being too absolute ; and insist that 
a neutral course, a midway path between the two extremes, is 
the "golden mean " ? Granted, and that would settle the (pies- 
tion, were it not the almost inevitable tendency of our frail 
humanity to drift speedily to the one extreme, but not to the 
other. If, therefore, self-indulgence is the prevailing proclivity 



326 THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 

of most people, and self-denial the converse of the proijosi- 
tion, it may be worth while to try the question in some of its 
relations, direct and collateral, to ourselves and others. To 
begin, then, with self, since we profess to know something- 
about the party, although, perchance, it may be but a superfi- 
cial acquaintance at best. The personal pronoun I, indeed, cuts 
a very prominent and important figure in the world, and is of 
prime significance to each of us respectively. Let us, then^ 
forget the egotism that is thus more than implied, and proceed 
with our investigation. It is quite right to stand up for Num- 
her One, on all occasions, for not only has the individual nu- 
merical precedence, but the prior claim. It has been justly 
said, that "self-love is not so vile a thing as self -neglecting. 
Ton cannot find a more companionable person than yourself ^ 
if proper attention be paid to the individual. Yourself will 
go with you wherever you like, and come away when you please 
— approve your jokes, assent to your propositions, and, in short, 
be in every way agreeable, if you only learn the art of being on 
good terms with yourself. This, however, is not so easy as some 
imagine, who do not often try the experiment. Yourself, when 
it catches you in company with no other person, is apt to be a 
severe critic on your faults and foibles, and when you are cen- 
sured by yourself, it is generally the severest and most intoler- 
able species of reproof. It is on this account that you are afraid 
of yourself, and seek any associates, no matter how inferior, 
whose bold chat may keep yourself from playing the censor. 
Yourself is likewise a jealous friend. If neglected and slighted, 
it becomes a hore, and to be left, even a short time, ' by your- 
self ' is then regarded as actually a cruel penance, as many find 
when youth, health, or wealth have departed. How in)portant 
is it then to ' know thyself,' to cultivate thyself, to respect thy- 
self, to love thyself warmly but rationally. A sensible self is the 
best of guides, for few commit errors but in broad disregard of 



THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 327 

its admonitions. It tugs continually at the skirt of men to draw 
them from their cherished vices. It holds up its shadowy fin- 
ger in warning when you go astray, and it sermonizes sharply 
on your sins after they have been committed. Our nature is 
twofold, and its noblest part is the self to which we refer." 
Wordsworth' s excellent counsel is meant to be personal : 

"By aU means, use sometimes to be alone ; 

Salute thyself ; see what thy soul doth wear ; 
Dare to look in thy chest, for 'tis thine own, 

And tumble up and down what thou findest there." 

Since the longer we live in the world, and the more we test 
the value of mundane friendships we prove their insecurity, 
it is better to be fortified against surprisals and disappoint- 
ments by cherishing a good opinion of, and acquaintance with 
— one's self. We must not confound 2ij?rojc>er regard for one's 
own interest with what is usually termed selfishness ; because 
much that may seem like it may be caused by the peculiar cir- 
cumstances in which a person may be placed. 

" O cynic, deem no more the world all base ; 
And scoff no more with either tongue or pen, — 
You do not see the face behind the face ! 
As God exists, there must be noble men ; 
And many, who to us seem hard and cold, 
Have sunshine in their hearts as pure as gold ! 

In the battle of life, a perpetual contest and struggle for the 
acquisition of its emoluments and prizes is kept up ; so that to 
enter the lists successful!}^, a man must be fitly panoplied, and 
thus he may seem to be the very impersonation of selfishness, 
while, in reality, he may be of just the opposite disposition. 
Take another point : the question, whether man is capable of 
performing a purely dismterested action, has long been a topic 



328 THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 

of dispute witli the metaphysician and the moralist. Doubtless, 
the most specious and plausible, as well as popular, hypothesis 
is that of the negative of the proposition. Among others 
holding to this side, might be mentioned Ilelvetius, Hobbes, 
and Shaftesbury; while the advocacy of the opposite opin- 
ion has enlisted the ingenious reasoning and analytical skill of 
others, with Hazlitt at their head. Without attempting to fol- 
low the ratiocinative process pursued by these disputants, we 
shall prefer to leave the question to be determined by the 
reader. All we would submit is, that while a due regard to 
one's own interest is a paramount obligation — as self-preserva- 
tion is the first law of nature — it does not necessarily follow 
that the rule should be so resolutely insisted upon, and to such 
an extreme as to absorb all human sympathy for our fellow- 
men. It is true that inan is an individualism, a separate exis- 
tence, and yet it is no less true, that he is naturall}^ a gregar- 
ious being, and governed by a social law, analogous to that of 
gravitation, by which the physical universe is controlled. This 
law of moral gravitation is further reflected by the lower orders 
of creation — animals and birds, and even faintly shadowed in 
the vegetable kingdom ; all congregate and illustrate the law 
of electric affinities. 

It has been well remarked : " The domestic fireside is a sem- 
inary of infinite importance. It is important because it is un- 
iversal, and because the education it bestows, being woven in 
with the woof of childhood, gives form and color to the whole 
texture of life. There are few who can receive the honors of 
a college, but all are graduates of the heart. The learning of 
the university may fade from recollection ; its classic lore may 
moulder in the halls of memory ; but the simple lessons of 
home, enamelled upon the heart of childhood, defy the rust of 
years, and outlive the more mature but less vivid pictures of 
after days. So deep, so lasting, are the impressions of early 



THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 329 

life, that you often see a man in the imbecility of age holding 
fresh in his recollection the events of childhood, while all the 
wide space between that and the present hour is a forgotten 
waste." 

It is an old saying, that charity begins at home ; but this is 
no reason it should never go abroad ; a man should live with 
the world as a citizen of the world, and he should cherish 
charity for his neighbor as well as for his household. Coleridge 
remarks : " General benevolence is begotten and rendered per- 
manent by social and domestic affections. Let us beware of 
that proud philosophy which affects to inculcate ]3hilanthropy 
while it denounces every home-born feeling by which it is 
produced and nurtured. The intensity of private attachments 
encourages, not prevents, universal benevolence. The nearer 
we approach the sun, the more intense his heat, yet what cor- 
ner of the system does he not cheer and vivify 'i " 

The Deity has not only constituted man a social being ; He 
has also ordained this moral attribute a source of his most ex- 
quisite enjoyment ; so that he who possesses a spirit of benevo- 
lence in its highest development is necessarily the happiest of 
mortals. 

Some generous-hearted beings there are who seem to devote 
their lives, and to derive their principal enjoyment in minister- 
ing to the happiness of their kind : these are the joyous spirits 

that ever 

" Make sunshine in a shady place," 

dispel fi-om the suffering spirit the demon of despair, and re- 
flect the radiance of celestial love all around, — changing the 
heart's wilderness of worldly care into a cultured garden of all 
pleasant things. Despite all efforts to meliorate their condi- 
tion, however, some people there are who will not consent to be 
made happy : they find their greatest satisfaction in incessant 
grumbling, and repining against destiny. Discontent, like a 



330 THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 

murky cloud impervious to the light of heaven, broods ever 
upon their horizon, — no matter whether their condition be one 
of privation or of prosperity, they are alike dissatisfied with 
their lot. 

" They err who say life is not sweet, 

Though cares are long and pleasures fleet ; 

Though smUes and tears, and sun and storm, 

Still change life's ever-varying form. 

The mind that looks on things aright, 

Sees through the clouds the deep blue light." 

Cheerfulness is an amulet, a charm that makes us perma- 
nently contented and happy. A cheerful face is sometimes as 
good for an invalid as healthy atmosphere. To make a sick 
man think he is dying, all that is necessary is to look dismal 
and doleful yourself. Merriment is a safety-valve to the heart 
overburdened with care. 

" A smile on the face and kind words on the tongue 
Will serve you as passports all nations among ; 
A heart that is cheerful, a spirit that's free, 
Will cany you bravely o'er life's stormy sea. 

"Talk not of fortune, talk not of fate — 
We make our own troubles, however we prate ! 
This world would be honey where now it is gall. 
Were we but contented and merry withal ! " 

The cheerful philosopher enjoys everything as he goes along; 
he does not fret over every little mistake he encounters on 
life's pilgrimage. His flow of spirits never slackens till the 
tide of life has ceased to ebb ; hence he always appears ten 
years younger than he actually is. His step never loses its 
elasticity, and his heart glows with a religious love to God and 
man. 

Dr. Johnson remarked that a habit of looking on the bright 
side of every event is better than a thousand pounds a year. 



THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 331 

Bishop Hall quaintly remarks, " For every bad there might be 
a worse, and when a man breaks his leg, let him be thankful 
that it was not his neck ! " When Fenelon's library was on 
fire, " God be praised," he exclaimed, " that it is not the dwell- 
ing of some poor man ! " This is the true spirit of submission — 
one of the most beautiful traits that can possess the human 
heart. Resolve to see this world on its simny side, and you 
have almost half won the battle of life at the outset. 

Of all the bores that are inflicted upon our social life, none 
is more disagreeable than the sour-tempered man ; he is not 
content with being miserable himself, but he insists upon mak- 
ing everybody else so, if he can. It is best not to let such an 
one have his own w^ay. 

If he would be content to confine his mutterings and mur- 
murings to himself, and to maintain a strict seclusion, he might 
be pardoned and pitied ; but when he thrusts his grievances 
apon society, he then becomes, as Dogberry eloquently ob- 
serves, " most tolerable, and not to be endured." 

" The sour man is always sour ; the milk of human kindness 
in his breast is curdled — there is no sweetness in the acid prin- 
ciple of his composition ; nature has given him a quantum 
sujjlcit of lemon-juice, but has forgotten the saccharine ingre- 
dient, lie is sour from the rising of the sun to the going 
down of the same ; in sunshine and moonshine, twilight and gas- 
light. "When he awakes in the morning, he grumbles because 
it is time to get up ; his coffee is always too hot or too cold ; his 
toast and steak either overdone or underdone ; he finds noth- 
ing satisfactory in the morning papers ; he is always in the op- 
position, let whatever party be in the ascendant. When he 
goes out he invariably grumbles at the weather ; if it is a little 
cool, he calls it Arctic weather ; if it is mild, he compares it to 
the tropics ; if it drizzles, he declares it rains pitchforks, and a 
gentle breeze is a hurricane." 



332 THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 

A man's life divested of the social virtues must necessarily 
be one of wretchedness ; for they constitute as truly and es- 
sentially an integral part of his own happiness, as they confer 
happiness upon those around him : it is suicidal to neglect 
their cultivation. Philosophers, however, have sought to urge 
this principle to an unreasonable extreme, by insisting that the 
universal love of our species was but a fuller development of 
self-love ; and that consequently no act of pure, disinterested 
benevolence could possibly exist. Magnanimity and courage, 
as well as philanthrophy and patriotism, have been classed to- 
gether under the same category — as merely modifications of 
this universal self-love. It is the supremacy of wisdom to 
cherish this passion, or principle, and to submit to its rule 
under the guidance and authority of reason; for rightly to 
estimate life is to value it in proportion to the amount of real 
good it confers. If happiness be the chief good, and of which 
all are in diligent pursuit, our reason would teach us, that not 
in blindly obeying the selfish impulses or passions of our na- 
ture should we attain its possession, but by simply submitting 
our conduct to the arbitration and test of that reason, irrespec 
tive of present, personal, or ostensible advantage. Lord Shaftes- 
bury remarks that a great many people pass for very good- 
natured persons, for no other reason than because they care 
about nobody but themselves; and consequently, as nothing 
annoys them but what touches their own interest, they never 
irritate themselves unnecessarily about what does not concern 
them, and seem to be made of the very milk of human kind- 
ness. This kind of good-nature is, of course, the most con- 
summate selfishness, partaking, in no small degree, of a love of 
indolence and exclusive personal indulgence : such individuals 
are apparently inoffensive and harmless in society, but they are 
injurious, because in the way. They are drones in the hives 
of human industry, or if they accumulate, the common weal is 



THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 333 

little benefited by their acquisition. Hazlitt remarks : " Tour 
good-natured man is, generally speaking, one who does not like 
to be put out of his way : and as long as he can help it, that is 
till the provocation comes home to himself, will not. He does 
not create fictitious uneasiness out of the distresses of others ; he 
does not fret and fume, and make himself uncomfortable about 
things he cannot mend, and that no way concern him, even if 
he could ; but then there is no one who is more apt to be dis- 
concerted by what puts him to any personal inconvenience, 
however trifling ; who is more tenacious of his self-indulgences, 
however unreasonable ; or who resents more violently any inter- 
ruption of his ease and comforts, — the very trouble he is put to 
in resenting it being felt as an aggravation of the injury. A 
person of this character feels no emotions of anger if you tell 
him of the devastation of a province, or the massacre of the 
inhabitants of a town, or the enslaving of a people ; but if his 
dinner is spoiled, he is thrown into irretrievable consternation 
and confusion. He thinks nothing can go amiss, as long as he 
is at his ease, though possibly a pain in his little finger renders 
him so peevish and impatient that no one can approach his 
presence." Such are the protean forms of human life, that it 
is next to impossible for a man to assume the same aspect 
under its manifold phases, and yet be honest : a disposition 
like that we have exhibited cannot therefore consist with strict 
moral integrity. Good nature, on the other hand, has been 
defined " humanity that costs notliing," for it incurs no risk of 
martyrdom in any cause, while it sacrifices all on the altar of 
self-interest. 

" Self is the medium least refined of all 
Through which opinion's searching beam can fall ; 
And passing there, the clearest, steadiest ray 
WUl tinge its light and turn its line astray." 



3oi THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 

It may be difficult to analyze the true motive which induces 
the patriot to serve his country's interest at the seeming ex- 
pense of his own ; it must be either a pure sentiment of disin- 
terested patriotism, or that of an ardent love of popular re 
nown. The same may be said of the philanthropist and the 
pioneer missionary ; the latter, however, is doubtless actuated 
by the higher convictions of religious obligation. It is possi- 
ble also for a man to prefer the interests of his friend to his 
own, from a feeling of pure benevolence ; although history and 
experience furnish but few instances of such exalted virtue. 
It is contended by writers adverse to the proposition, that this 
benevolence toward others is always found in proportion to 
the utility they are likely to be of to the party in return. 

The argument of Hazlitt may be thus briefly stated — that the 
habitual or known connection between our own welfare and 
that of others is one great source of our attachment to them, 
is not denied ; but to insist that it is the exclusive one, and 
that benevolence has not "a natural basis of its own to rest upon, 
as well as self-love, is contrary to the dictates of sound reason 
and human experience. Grant this, and the actual effects 
which we observe in human life will follow from both princi- 
ples combined ; for example, take that purest of all earthly 
loves — the affection of the mother for her child — it cannot be 
the effect of the good received or bestowed, or the child's 
power of conferring benefits, or its standing in need of assist- 
ance. Are not the fatigues which the mother undergoes for 
the child — its helpless condition, its little vexations, its suffer- 
ings from ill-health or accidents, additional claims upon mater- 
nal tenderness, and act as so many causes that tend to increase 
its devotion ? 

Again, we not only participate in the successes of our friends, 
but also in their reverses and trials, not for the reason already 
assigned, so much as from real regard to their welfare ; benev- 



THE SELFISH AUD l-HE SOCIAL. 335 

olence is not therefore a mere physical reflection of self-love : 
it is more the result of moral feeling, or at least a combination 
with this. It is the nature of compassion or pity to forget 
self, in the commisei'ation of the sufferings of another, and such 
human hearts yet linger among us. 

'"Tis a little thing 
To give a cnp of water ; yet its draught 
Of cool refreshment drained by fevered lips, 
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame 
More exquisite than where nectarian juice 
Renews the life of joy in happier hours." 

The best portion of a good man's life consists in such name- 
less, unrecorded, oft unremembered, little acts of kindness and 
love. 

Goldsmith's good nature is illustrated by many characteristic 
incidents ; here is one : once visiting a poor woman whose sick- 
ness he plainly perceived was caused by an empty cupboard, 
he sent her, on his return home, a pill-box containing a few 
sovereigns, with this inscription on the outside, — " to be taken 
as occasion may require." 

Our sympathy, therefore, is not the servile, ready tool of our 
self-love, but this latter principle is itself subservient to, and 
overruled by the former, — that is, an attachment to others is a 
real, independent principle of human action. The only sense, 
then, in which our sympathy with others can be construed into 
self-love, must be that the mind is so constituted, that without 
forethought, or any reflection in itself, or when seeming most 
occupied witli others, it is still governed by the same universal 
feeling of which it is wholly unconscious ; and that we indulge 
in compassion only because and in so far as it coincides with 
our own immediate gratification. It is doubtless in this sense 
we are to apply the lines of Pope : 



336 THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 

' ' Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, 
As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake ; 
The centre moved, a circle straight succeeds, 
Another still, and still another speeds ; 
Friend, parent, neighbor, first its wiU embrace ; 
His country next — nest the whole human race. " 

In fine, the argument may be summed up in the Divine re-* 
quirement, " love thy neighbor as thyself." In proportion as 
we subordinate the selfish principle, we accelerate our personal 
enjoyment. The purest pleasure of life is the consciousness of 
loving and being beloved. 

" Grant me, Heaven, my earnest prayer — 
Whether life of ease or care 
Be the one to me assigned, 
That each coming year may find 
Loving thoughts and gentle words 
Twined within my bosom's chords, 
And that age may but impart 
Riper freshness to my heart ! " 

Again, when the kindly ofiices of friendship and charity are 
not required, how lavishly, sometimes, are they proffered ; but 
let the dark shades of adversity gather thickly around us, and 
vainly and long may we wait for the promised sympathetic 
aid. 

Sympathy and self-love are inconsistent ; and we invest man 
with the attribute of ideas of things out of himself, and to be 
influenced by them he must . necessarily cease to be a merely 
selfish agrent. He is then under another law and another ne- 
cessity, and in spite of himself is forced out of the direct line ot 
his own interest, both future and present, by other principles 
inseparable from his nature. 



THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 337 

" Man, like the generous vine, supported lives ; 
The strength he gains is from th' embrace he gives. 
On their own axis, as the planets run, 
Tet make at once their circle round the sun — 
So two consistent motions act the soul ; 
And one regards itself and one the whole. 
Thus God and nature linked the general frame, 
And bade self-love and social be the same ! " 

A smile speaks the universal language. " If I value myself 
on anything," said Hawthorne, " it is on having a smile that 
children love." They are such prompt little beings, too ; they 
require so little prelude ; hearts are won in two minutes, at 
that frank period, and so long as you are true to them they will 
be true to you. They use no argument, no bribery. They 
have a hearty appetite for gifts, no doubt, but it is not for these 
they love the giver. Take the wealth of the world and lavish 
it with counterfeited affection ; 1 will win all the children's 
hearts away from you by empty-handed love. The gorgeous 
toys will dazzle them an hour ; then their instincts will revert 
to their natural friends. 

To love children is to love childhood, instinctively, at what- 
ever distance, the first impulse being one of attraction, though it 
may be checked by later discoveries. Unless your heart com- 
mands at least as long a range as your eye, it is not worth 
much. 

" Allow me, gentlemen," said Curran, one evening to a large 
party, " to give you a sentiment. When a boy, I was one morn- 
ing playing at marbles in the village of Ball-alley, with a light 
heart and lighter pocket. The gibe and the jest went gladly 
round, when suddenly among us appeared a stranger, of a re- 
markable and very cheerful aspect ; his intrusion was not the 
least restraint upon our merry little assemblage. He was a 
benevolent creature, and the days of infancy (after all, the 
happiest we shall ever see) perhaps rose upon his memory. 
23 



338 THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 

Heaven bless him ! I see his fine form, at the distance of half 
a century, just as he stood before me in the little Ball-alley, in 
the day of my childhood. His name was Boyse ; he was the 
rector of Newmarket. To me he took a particular fancy. I 
was winning, and full of waggery ; thinking everything that 
was eccentric, and by no means a miser of my eccentrici- 
ties ; every one was welcome to a share of them, and I had 
plenty to spare, after having frightened the company. Some 
sweatmeats easily bribed me home with him. I learned from 
Boyse my alphabet and my grammar, and the rudiments of the 
classics. He taught me all he could, and then he sent me to a 
school at Middleton. In short, he made me a man. I recollect 
it was about thirty-five years afterwards, when I had risen to 
some eminence at the bar, and when I had a seat in Parliament, 
on my return one day from the Court, I found an old gentleman 
seated alone in my drawing-room, his feet familiarly placed on 
each side of the Italian marble chimney-piece, and his whole 
air bespeaking the consciousness of one quite at home. He 
turned round — it was my friend of Ball-alley. I rushed in- 
stinctively into his arms, and burst into tears. Words cannot 
describe the scene which followed. ' You are right, sir, you 
are right. The chimney-piece is yours — the pictures are yours 
— the house is yours. You gave me all I have — my friend — 
my benefactor ! ' He dined with me ; and in the evening I 
caught the tear glistening in his fine blue eye, when he saw poor 
little Jack, the creature of his bounty, rising in the House of 
Commons to reply to a right honorable. Poor Boyse ! he is 
now gone ; and no suitor had a longer deposit of practical 
benevolence in the Court above. This is his wine — let us drink 
to his memory ! " 

Southey must have sung from his heart those sweet syllables 
about the longevity of love : 



THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 339 

" They sin who tell us love can die : 
With life all other passions fly, 
All others are but vanity. 
But love is indestructible ! 
Its holy flame forever bumeth, 
From heaven it came, to heaven retumeth I 
Too oft, on earth, a troubled ^est. 
At times deceived, at times opprest ; 
It is here tried and purified 
Then hath in heaven its perfect rest. 
It soweth here with toil and care, 
But the harvest-time of love is there ! " 

Charity, or love to our neighbor, is " the best-natured thing 
and the best-complexioned thing in the world. Let us express 
this sweet, harmonious afiFection in these jarring times, that sc, 
if it be possible, we may tune the world into better music." * 

Sydney Smith asserts that "there is nothing which an 
Englishman enjoys more than the pleasure of sulkiness — of not 
being forced to hear a word from anybody which may occasion 
to him the necessity of replying. It is not so much that Mr. 
Bull disdains to talk, as that Mr. Bull has nothing to say. His 
forefathers have been out of spirits for six or seven hundred 
years, and, seeing nothing but fog and vapor, he is out of 
spirits, too ; and when there is no selling or buying, or no busi- 
ness to settle, he prefers being alone, and looking at the fire." 

Wealth and station are what we call the accidents of life, 
or rather they are apportioned by Providence ; but love may 
exist with humble poverty as really as with luxury and pomp. 

"In ourselves the sunshine dwells, 
From ourselves the music swells ; 
By ourselves our life is fed 
With sweet or bitter daily bread." 

* Cudworth. 



340 THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 

Sydney Smith pleasantly remarks, " God has given us wit 
and flavor, and brightness and laughter and perfumes, to enliven 
the days of man's pilgrimage, and to charm his pained steps 
over the burning marie." And our great essayist * wisely 
insists that "there is no real life but cheerful life." Steele 
said, " I am persuaded that every time a man smiles, but much 
more so when he laughs, it adds something to this fragment of 
life." He has another piquant remark, where he refers to 
sociality : " Conversation never sits easier upon us than when we 
now and then discharge ourselves in a symphony of laughter, 
which may not improperly be called the chorus of conversa- 
tion." Therefore valetudinarians and long-visaged personages, 
who prefer to look on the dark side of things, should be sworn, 
before they enter into company, not to say a word of themselves 
or their tribulations until the meeting is dissolved. There are 
some ascetic souls, whose lugubrious looks cast dark shadows 
wherever they go ; and .whose presence, like the fabled upas 
tree, diffuses a deadly poison over all the felicities and gayeties 
of life. Who does not prefer the joyance and the fragrant 
breath of the warm, jubilant spring, with her gay garniture of 
flowers and sweet minstrelsy of birds, to the icy breath and 
solemn desolation of winter ? So a radiant face, all aglow with 
sunny smiles, and a voice attuned to the music of love, embel- 
lish and bless with their inspiration all with whom they come 
in contact. 

" To laugh is man's prerogative, we say, — 
It makes the wheels of nature glibber play ; 
Dull care suppresses, — smooths hfe's thorny way, — 
Propels the dancing current through each vein, — 
Braces the nerves, — corroborates the brain, — 
Moves every muscle, — makes one young again ! " 

" There is an old-fashioned virtue which often strikes us as 

* Addison. 



THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 341 

very little in favor with the people of our time, probably because 
they do not recognize it as a virtue at all ; and, indeed, it does 
its work with such a bright face and easy air that among the 
strenuous, austere brotherhood of duties and merits it may well 
pass for something else — as a mean and worldly conformity, 
perhaps. "We name it Complaisance. In fact, we doubt if 
anybody gives it its proper rank until he misses and feels the 
want of it. Even the old writers, who had much more pro- 
nounced ideas on the duty of being pleasant than people have 
nowadays, hesitate to place it among the moral virtues. True, 
it renders a superior amiable, an equal agreeable, an inferior 
acceptable. It sweetens conversation ; it produces good nature 
and mutual benevolence ; ' it encourages the timorous, soothes 
the turbulent, humanizes the fierce, and distinguishes a society 
of civilized persons from a confusion of savages ; ' and yet 
because it never makes itself disagreeable or unwelcome there 
is a doubt whether to call it a virtue simple or only a social 
virtue — that is, a charm, a grace, a fine manner, a performance 
for the actor's sake. Yet genuine complaisance, as the effusion 
of a benevolent nature, rendering the sacrifice of personal in- 
clination and ease a slight, unthought-of thing when set against 
the general satisfaction, is surely worthy of some considerable 
estimation even on the score of self-denial. 

" True complaisance never sleeps where the reisany body to 
please or to make more comfortable. Politeness is society's 
method of making things run smooth. Complaisance is a more 
intimate quality — an impulse to seek points of agreement with 
others; it is the spirit of welcome, whether to strangers, or to 
new suggestions, untried pleasures, fresh impressions. It is a 
belief in the reciprocal services which men, as members of 
society, can confer on each other — a willingness to confer and 
to receive; it is toleration, accessibility, and expectation. In 
fact, it is charity in its social aspect, as concerned with the 



342 



THE SELFISH AND THE SOCIAL. 



minor satisfactions and perplexities of life. Conscience is 
rarely a sleepless influence." * 

Let us, then, seek to eschew the idea of living exclusively for 
self^ — narrowing down the sphere of our earthly existence to so 
ignoble a purpose ; rather ought we to embellish it with the 
outgushings of a generous good- will to those who are less en- 
dowed than ourselves. 

If the Divine maxim be admitted, we enrich ourselves most 
when most generous in our benefactions to others. How glori- 
ous a thing it is — the consciousness of doing good ! What a 
galaxy of the great and good, who have scattered sunshine over 
the dark places of sorrow and suffering, illumine the scroll of 
our human history in all ages of the world, — worthy of all imi- 
tation ! 

* Saturday Review. 





THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 

" The shadow on the dial's face, that steals, from day to day. 
With slow, unseen, unceasing pace, moments, and months, and years away ; 
This shadow, which, in every clime. 
Since light and motion first began. 
Hath held its course sublime." 



Time is so intangible a thing, that the moment we essay to 
grasp it, it is gone. Although impalpable it is yet real, for, 
like the circumambient atmosphere, it is ever present with us, 
although unseen. If we attempt to symbolize it, we fail fully 
to portray it, and yet images are its only mode of illustration. 
It is both the longest and the shortest, the swiftest and the 



344 THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 

slowest ; the most regretted and the least valued ; without 
which nothing can be done ; that which devours everything, 
and yet gives existence to everything. 

" It is the account current with all, in which more are found 
bankrupt than wealthy, when the balance-sheet is demanded. 
It marks the rising and the setting sun, spreads over ns the 
black veil of night, and gilds with gladness the face of day ; it 
rolls on the revolving seasons, chronicling the deeds of cen- 
turies ; watching over the birth of infanc}', the ardent aspira- 
tions of youth, toiling manhood, and the tottering steps of the 
infirm and aged — his sorrows, loves, and cares, nor forsakes 
him so long as life shall last." It is always the friend of the 
virtuous and the true, a tormenting foe to those who abuse 
the gift ; to the former, it is redolent of fragrant and pleasant 
memories, — to the latter, of gloomy remorse and despair. 

" It rolls away, and bears along 
A mingled mass of right and wrong ; 
The flowers of love that bloomed beside 
The margin of life's sunny tide ; 
The poisoned weeds of passion, torn 
From dripping rocks, and headlong borne 
Into that unhorizoned sea — 
Which mortals call eternity ! " 

And such is that mysterious myth, named Time, who meas- 
ures our allotted span, from the cradle to the cofiin, mingles 
our joys and griefs in the chalice of life, and then terminates 
it with his scythe, — 

" A shadow only to the eye, 
It levels all beneath the sky." 

Time itself is but a shadow ; it is what is done in time that 
is the substance. What are twenty-four centuries to the hard 
rock, more than twenty-four hours to man, or twenty-four min- 



THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 345 

utes to the ephemera ? " Are there not periods in our own exist- 
ence," writes an ingenious thinker, " in which space, computed 
by its measure of thoughts, feelings, and events, mocks the 
penury of man's artificial scale and comprises a lifetime in a 
day." 

" I asked an aged man, a man of cares, 

Wrinkled and curved, and white with hoary hairs : 

' Time is the warp of life,' he said, ' Oh teU 

The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it welL" 

I asked the ancient, venerable dead — 

Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled : 

From the cold grave a hoUow murmiir flowed — 
' Time sowed the seed we reap in this abode.' 

I asked a dying sinner, ere the tide 

Of life had left his veins : ' Time,' he replied, 
' I've lost it — ah, the treasure ! ' and he died. 

I asked the golden sun and silver spheres. 

Those bright chronometers of days and years ; 

They answered — ' Time is but a meteor's glare,' 

And bade me for eternity prepare. 

I asked the seasons, in their annual round. 

Which beautify or desolate the ground : 

And they replied (no oracle more wise) : 

'Tis Folly's blank, and "Wisdom's highest prize.' " * 

Shakespeare thus inimitably portrays " old father Time," and 
his various progressive journeys with us : 

" Time travels in divers paces, with divers persons ; I'll tell 
you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who 
Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. He trots 
hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage, 
and the day it is solemnized ; if the interim be but a se'nnight. 
Time's pace is so hard, that it seems the length of seven years. 
He ambles with a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that 
tath not the gout — for the one sleeps easily, because he cannot 

* Marsden. 



346 THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 

study ; and the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain ; 
the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning — the 
other knowing no burden of heavy, tedious penury ; then Time 
arables withal. He gallops with a thief to the gallows — for, 
though he go softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon 
there. He stays still with lawyers in the vacation — for they 
sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how 
Time moves." 

Time is portrayed with wings to indicate his rapid flight, and 
if he strew our pathway with life's spring flowers, he also 
brings, too swiftly, its wintry frosts and desolation. He is also 
represented with a scythe, to notify that he mows down all alike 
— the young and the old, the refined and the vulgar, the good 

and the bad. 

" Even such is Time that takes on trust, 
Our youth, our joys, our all we have, 
And pays us but with age and dust ; 
Who, in the dark and silent grave. 
When we have wandered all our ways, 
Shuts up the story of our days." * 

The earliest expedient for reckoning time seems to have 
been the sundial. Allusion to its use is to be found in Holy 
Writ. 

Herodotus informs us that the Greeks borrowed the inven- 
tion from the Babylonians. The sundial was first used at Rome, 
about 300 B.C. Prior to that time there was no division of 
the day into hours, but only sun-rising and sun-setting, hefore 
and after mid-day. 

The Tdejpsydra^ or water-clock, was introduced at Rome, 157 
B.C. It served its purpose in all weathers, while the dial, of 
course, depended upon the sun. 

There is a dial in the Temple Gardens, London, upon which 

* Raleigh. 



THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 347 

is inscribed the admonitory line for loiterers, " Begone about 
your business." 

One of the oldest clocks in England is in the Palace of 
Hampton Court. It still works well, and wears well, like old 
father Time himself. 

One of the best clocks now in London is that of the Royal 
Exchange. That placed in the Clock Tower of the New 
Houses of Parliament is an eight-day one, and strikes the hour 
on a bell weighing nearly ten tons ; it chimes tlie quarter upon 
eight bells, and shows the time upon four dials, about thirty 
feet in diameter. The length of the minute-hand of the clock 
of St. Paul's Cathedral is 8 feet, and its weight 75 lbs. ; the 
length of the hour-hand is 5 feet 5 inches, and its weight 44 lbs. 
The diameter of the dial is 18 feet. The diameter of the bell 
is ten feet, and its weight four tons and a quarter. It is never 
used except for the striking of the hour, and for tolling at the 
deaths and funerals of any of the Royal family, the Bishops of 
London, the Deans of St. Paul's, and the Lord Mayor, should 
he die during mayoralty. 

The astronomical clock at Strasburg is composed of three 
parts, respectively dedicated to the measure of time, to the 
calendar, and to astronomical movements. The first thing to 
be created was a central moving power, communicating its 
motion to the whole of its mechanism. The motive power, 
which is itself a very perfect and exact timepiece, indicates on 
an outer face the hours and their subdivisions, as well as the 
days of the week ; it strikes the hours and the quarters, and 
puts in motion divers allegorical figures. 

Watches were first introduced at the close of the fifteenth 
century. Watchmaking has been carried to great perfection 
by the Swiss, French, and English. Some minute watches 
have been constructed of less than half an inch diameter. 

A watch has been facetiously designated as the image of 



348 THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 

modesty, since it always holds its hands before its face, and 
however good its works may be, it is always running itself 
down 

A word respecting Almanacs. Some suppose the term to be 
Arabic, others give it a Teutonic origin, from the words al and 
moan, the moon. Others again assign it a Saxon derivation. 

In 1472 the earliest European almanac was issued from the 
press ; and, before the end of that century, they became com- 
mon on the Continent. In England they were not in general 
use until the middle of the sixteenth century. 

The almanac, in its simple form as a calendar, agrees in 
many respects to i\\e fasti or festival-roll of the Romans. The 
word calendar comes from the Latin verb calare, to call, or 
calens, its participle, on account of the custom of the pontiffs 
summoning the people to apprise them of the festivals occur- 
ring in each respective month ; these occasions are designated 
dies calendcB — the calends or first days of the month. Such 
was the beginning of our almanac. The fasti seems to be an 
extension of the primitive religious calendar, and to the pagan 
feast-days added the days on which the magistrates were 
elected and held court. This was its first civil form. 

The calendar of the almanac now in use is an improvement 
on that of Romulus. He divided the year into ten months, 
beginning with March. His year consisted of 304 days. 
Numa improved on Romulus, and added two mouths, January 
to the beginning, and February to the end of the year. In 452 
B.C., the Decemvirs placed February after January, and fixed 
the order of the months. The year at this time consisted of 
365 J days. According to the imperfect mode of reckoning by 
the Romans, after the addition of the months of January and 
February, e.g. 452, the twenty-fourth of February was called 
the sixth before the calends of March, sexto calendas. In the 
intercalary year this day was repeated and styled Ms sexto cal- 



THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 349 

eitdas — whence we derive the term bissextile. The correspond- 
ing term leap-year is, however, infelicitously applied, inasmuch 
as it seems to intimate that a day was leaped over, instead of 
being thrust in, which is the fact. It may be remarked that 
in the ecclesiastical calendar, the intercalary day is still in- 
serted between the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth of February. 
Bissextile, or leap-year, therefore contains three hundred and 
sixty-six days, and occurs every fourth year. Leap-year is, ac- 
cording to traditionary lore, invested with sundry privileges 
and immunities to the fair. The Comic Almanac says, " it takes 
three springs to make one leap-year.^'' 

Sosigenies, the astronomer, induced Caesar to abolish the 
lunar year, and regulate time by the sun. Gregory the Thir- 
teenth, in 1582, corrected the calendar, and placed it on its 
present basis. The Gregorian calendar was received at once 
by all the Roman Catholic States of Europe. The Protestant 
powers refused, for some time, to adopt it. England did not 
receive it till 1752. In that year, the Julian calendar, or old 
style, was abolished, and the Gregorian, or new style, adopted. 
This was done by dropping eleven days, the excess of the Julian 
over the true solar time. Russia still adheres to the old. 

A prominent feature of the earlier almanacs was the prog- 
nostications respecting the weather, calculated from the various 
phases of the moon. The divisions of time into periods of 
seven days have been made in all ages, and are as old as the 
creation. The Chinese, the Egyptians, the Arabs, and other 
Oriental nations, as well as the Jews, counted in this way. 

The word " week " is taken from the Saxon language and 
means seven days, the same as in ours. Some people suppose 
that the number seven was chosen because the ancients knew 
of only seven planets, and because they believed the planets 
had a great deal of influence over human affairs, they named 



350 THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 

one day in honor of each, and so obtained the names of the 
days and their division at the same time. 

"We have kept a part of these names and changed the others 
for words taken from the Saxon deities. The days of Mars, 
Jupiter, Mercury, and Yenus have been called Tuesday, Wed- 
nesday, Thursday, and Friday, from Tuesco, Woden, Thor, and 
Friga, the Mars, Jupiter, and Venus of the Saxons. 

The day on which the week begins is not always the same. 
Among the Jews the Sabbath was made to fall on the seventh 
day. Among Christians the first day was set apart as a Sab- 
bath. 

The changes of the moon evidently caused the next division 
of time into months. A year is the period in which the sun 
makes his circuit of the heavens. 

There has been a good deal of confusion from the attempt to 
make the periods of time correspond precisely with the revolu 
tions of the heavenly bodies. 

The moon makes more than twelve revolutions in a year, and 
the year itself is a little more than three hundred and sixty- 
five days ; so while it would make no difference for short 
periods, yet in centuries these fractions would amount to quite 
a sum. 

From time to time the year has been pushed forward, so to 
speak, by adding enough days to make up deficiencies. The 
names of the months have come to us from the Romans. 
With them March was the first month (and for a while they 
had only ten) and December the tenth, November the ninth, 
October the eighth. They soon found that ten months made a 
short year, and so added two — January and February — from 
the names of two of their gods. The fifth and sixth were 
afterward changed to July and August, in honor of two em- 
perors. 

An exact computation of time is very important, and learned 



THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 351 

men have always endeavored to avoid mistakes. Corrections 
have been made from time to time, until a system almost per- 
fect has been established. 

Among the ancient nations the day began at sunrise and con- 
tinued till its light expired : others supposed their day to com- 
mence at sunset. The Arabians, again, make theirs to begin at 
noon, with all navigators and astronomers : while we, in com- 
mon with the ancient Egyptians, and most of the modern Eu- 
ropeans, date from midnight, which, allowing of all the waking 
hours of day to come together, is manifestly the most conve- 
nient and rational. The ancients were accustomed to group 
together the various clusters of stars ; these groups, which they 
termed constellations, they gave the names of celebrated per- 
sonages of their day, and others they named after such birds, 
beasts, or insects as seemed to be portrayed in the space de- 
scribed by these stellar objects. The divisions of the heavens 
designated, to some extent, the seasons of the year, and hence 
the origin of the signs of the zodiac. 

January is a name which is derived from Janus^ who was in 
classic mythology the tutelary deity that presided over this 
gate of the New Year. Janus was represented with two faces, 
looking in opposite directions — to the past and the future. 
The temple in Rome, erected to his memory, was always kept 
open in time of war. It was closed only three times during 
the lapse of seven hundred years. It was closed at the time of 
the birth of Christ, for then the whole world was at peace. 

^' He cometli, the elder-bom child of the yeax, 
With a turbulent voice, and a visage austere ; 
But his cold, callous hand, and his boreal breath, 
Prepare for new life the low relics of death ; 
A changeling in temper, but ever sublime. 
Is this moody, mad offspring of stem winter-time." 

New Year's Day has been, from time immemorial, kept as a 



352 THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 

day of rejoicing. By the Greeks it was a solemn festival : by 
the Komans, one of feasting and congratulation. Throughout 
Christendom it is kept as a holiday. Bells are rung at mid- 
night to celebrate the exit of the old, and the advent of the 
new year. 

Despite its icy breath and frigid aspect, rugged winter seems 
to be prophetic of a joyous new existence, as those who have 
become frosted with age appear for the time to have acquired 
a spirit of rejuvenescence. It forms a sort of resting-place in 
the progress of life's journey, from which we all persuade our- 
selves, however we may deprecate the past, that the future is 
gilded with Iris hopes of happiness. If the external aspect of 
nature appear cheerless and chilly, the scene is but the more 
heightened by the contrast of the sunny smiles and generous 
hospitalities of the happy fireside of kindred and friends. 
There is something picturesque as well as grateful in this time- 
honored custom of commemorating the nativity of the year, 
by acts of beneficence atid votive offerings to friendship. 

Friendly interchange of visits, congratulations and the pre- 
sentation of gifts, seem to have been in vogue in every age. 
The ancient Druids were accustomed to cut the sacred mistle- 
toe, with a golden knife, in a forest dedicated to the gods, and 
to distribute its branches with much ceremony, as new-year's 
gifts to the people. 

Of the special holidays and festivals of this month, the first 
in order is that of Circumcision — a festival of the Komish 
Church, and adopted also by the Episcopacy since the year 
1550. The next festival in the Calendar is that styled Ejpijph- 
any, or Twelfth-day — indicating the manifestation of Christ 
to the Gentile world, which event is ascribed to this date. 
This holiday used to be characterized in Saxon times by the 
wassail-howl— Q. spiced decoction, deriving its name from wcbs- 



THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 353 

TicbI (be healthy), the toast the sturdy old Saxons adopted on 
the occasion of their libations. 

The second, and briefest of the family of months, Febru- 
ary, derives its name from Februo, to purify ; hence Februa- 
rius, the appellation assigned by the Romans to the expiatory 
sacrifices they were accustomed to offer at this season. Pisces, 
the constellation over which Neptune was supposed to preside, 
was regarded by the ancients as the last of the winter signs, 
and was represented under the figure of two fishes; but at 
present it is the first in order of the stellar groups of the zo- 
diac, presiding over the vernal equinox. 

The Saxon name for this month was sprout-kele, also sal- 
monath, or pancake month, from their custom of offering cakes 
to the sun, for his increasing power. 

Midway in this month comes the festival of St. Valentine. 
All we know of him is that he was canonized in consequence 
of his having suffered martyrdom in the third century, under 
the Emperor Claudius. Some have conjectured that the custom 
of devoting this day to Cupid is traceable to the ancient Romans, 
whose festivals, called Lupercalia, were celebrated about this 
time. On these occasions, amidst a variety of ceremonies, the 
names of young women were placed in a box, from which they 
were drawn by a band of devotees, as chance determined. 

The practical joking which prevails so universally on the day 
in question, the love of fun and caricature with Cupid, is of 
comparatively modern date. Formerly, love-making among 
om* sober progenitors wore a much more grave and demure as- 
pect: it was not a matter to be trifled with, that of Knking 
hearts and hands, with the joint fortunes or misfortunes of life. 

"Oh love ! how potent is thy sway ; 

Thou'rt terrible, indeed, to most men ! 
But once a year there comes a day 

When thou tormentest chiefly postmen. 
23 



354: THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 

" Oh hard indeed the lot must be 

Of him who wears thy galling fetters ! 
But e'en more miserable he 

Who must go round with all thy letters." 

Without pretending to estimate the obligations of many of 
the devotees of Hymen to this worthy saint's influence, the fes- 
tival, occurring half -way in this most inclement and unpopular 
month, certainly tends to beguile many of its objectionable ac- 
companiments — snow, sleet, and that worst of all kinds of 
weather — a penetrating thaw, against which even a suit of mail 
may be said to be scarcely impervious. 

Shrove -Tuesday regulates most of the movable feasts. It is 
the next after the first new moon in the month of February, 
and follows the first Sunday in Lent. Formerly, the people 
were expected to prepare themselves for Lent by confessing 
themselves ; hence the word shrove. 

Ash- Wednesday is the first day of Lent, supposed to have 
been so called from a custom in the Church of sprinkling ashes 
that day on the heads of the penitents. 

March is so called from Mars, the pagan god of war. 

The Saxons called it lenct monath, or length month, be- 
cause the days then begin to exceed in length the nights. 

Lenct, now called Lent, means spring. 

March is a rude, boisterous month, possessing many of the 
chai-acteristics of winter, yet it gives us the fii'st announcement 
and foretaste of spring. What can equal the delight of the 
heart at the very first glimpse of spring — the first peeping of 
buds and green herbs ? It is like a new life infused into our 
bosoms. A spirit of tenderness — a burst of freshness and lux- 
ury of feeling possesses us ; and though fifty springs have 
broken upon us, their joy, unlike many joys of time, is not an 
atom impaired. 

True it is that blustering, rude Boreas causes boisterous ex- 



THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 355 

citement about this time, as if seeking to awaken Nature from 
her long sleep of winter ; while dusty particles scorn all local 
habitation, performing fantastic gyrations in the air, to the se- 
rious discomfiture of our physical organs, especially the optical 
and olfactory. 

The dry winds of lusty March, however they may be depre- 
cated for their personal incivilities, are nevertheless useful to 
the purposes of agriculture. Its zodiacal sign, Aries, was as- 
signed to this, originally the first month of the year, because 
the ancients considered the ram as the father of the fleecy flock 
which afforded them both food and raiment. 

St. David's Day is celebrated by the Welsh as commemora- 
tive of their patron saint : it occurs on the first of the month. 

We now come to the festival held in honor of the tutelar 
saint of Ould Ireland — Saint Patrick — who, according to 
ancient lore, in the year of grace 433 landed near Wicklow, 
having, it is said, been born at Kilpatrick, Scotland. His glo- 
rious memory is mnemonized by the well-known Shamrock. 
The real name of this notable apostle of the Irish was Maen- 
wyn. Pope Celestine gave him his ecclesiastical patronymic of 
PatricuSj when he consecrated him as bishop to Ireland in 
A.D. 433. Originally there was a dispute, according to Lover, 
as to the true anniversary of this renowned saint, some suppos- 
ing the eighth and others the ninth to be the correct date : the 
humorist, however, represents a priest as settling the difiiculty 
as follows: 

' ' Says he, ' Boys, don't be fighting for eight or for nine ; 
Don't be always dividing — but sometimes combine. 
Combine eight with nine, and seventeen is the mark. 
So let that be his birthday.' 'Amen,' says the clerk. 
So they all got blind drunk — which completed their bliss, 
And we keep up the practice from that day to this. " 

Palm Simday is the first Sunday before Easter, so 



356 THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 

called in commemoration of Christ's entering into Jerusalem, 
eight days before the Passover. The Passover of the Jewa 
closely agrees with the time when the sun crosses or passes 
over the equator, an event that could hardly fail to be cele- 
brated with rites and ceremonies by a people so devoted to as- 
tronomy as the Egyptians, who had educated Moses. Pascha 
was the primitive term, the English name passover being de- 
rived from Godi'^jpassing over the houses of the Israelites and 
sparing their first-born, when those of the Egyptians were put 
to death. 

The first of April was by the Romans consecrated to Yenus, 
the goddess of beauty, as the earth begins at this time to be 
arrayed in her beautiful garments and bedeck herself with 
flowers. 

The month of April is one of alternating smiles and tears. 
By some writers it has been designated the sweetest of the 
aerial sisters, because it ushers in the " delicate-footed May." 

"Sighing, stonniiig, singing, smiling, 
With her raany moods beguiling, 

April walks the wakening earth. 
Wheresoe'er she looks and lingers, 
Wheresoe'er she lays her fingers. 

Some new charm starts into birth." * 

This month, it will be recollected, is introduced by the equi- 
vocal practice of imposing upon our credulity, under the style 
and title of April-fooling. 

Be very circumspect on this day of attending to gratuitous 
advice, given in the street, respecting your costume or personal 
appearance. Do not heed any officious person who may insist 
upon your picking up anything he may imagine you to have 
dropped. 

* J. C. Prince, 



THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. S57 

About the middle of April the sun enters Taurus — a con- 
stellation which includes one hundred and forty-one stars, the 
principal of which is Aldebaran, of the first magnitude ; it also 
comprises two remarkable representations, viz. : the Pleiades 
and the Hyades. Alcyone, the principal star in the Pleiades, 
is supposed by Prof. Madler to be the grand central sun in the 
universe. 

Good Friday^ designed to commemorate the crucifixion, is 
religiously regarded as a solemn festival. At St. Peter's, at 
Rome, it is kept up in the service of the TenebrcB — a cere- 
monial representing the entombment of the Saviour. Cross- 
buns used on this day are in imitation of the ecclesiastical 
eulogia, or consecrated loaves, formerly bestowed in the church 
as alms, or given to those who, from any impediment, could 
not receive the host. It will be remembered that popular 
superstition has marked this day of the week (Friday) as " un- 
lucky." 

If Friday was ever ill-omened, its reputation is sufiiciently 
redeemed, for it was on that day that Columbus discovered the 
New World, that George Washington was born, and that the 
Pilgrim fathers reached the Plymouth rock. 

" The flowery May, who from her green lap throws 
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose." 

Thus sung the " blind old bard," and a right fruitful theme 
has this " queen month " of the calendar been to the many wor- 
shippers of the muse, from the days of old Chaucer down to 
our own. 

May seems to be the bridal season of heaven and earth, and 
the whole month the honeymoon. 

" Buds are filling, leaves are sweUing, flowers on field, and bloom on tree : 
O'er the earth, and air, and ocean, Nature holds her jubilee." 



358 THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 

Wordsworth thus daintily pictures forth the harbingers of 
spring : 

"Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, 
Let them live upon their praises ; 
Long as there's a sun that sets, primroses wiU have their glory — 
Long as there are violets, they wiU have a place in story." 

The rural festivities of the May-queen are no longer seen^ 
but the denizens of New York, for the special benefit of the 
landlords, have substituted a custom instead, of a most moving 
and exciting character ; we refer to their curious passion for 
changing their habitations on that day. On this eventful day, 
the entire community is in a transition state. Like a busy 
swarm of ants, people are hurrying to and fro, hither and 
thither, in the most amusing confusion, each eagerly in quest 
of his new abode. This singular fancy for change of habita- 
tion seems peculiar to our locomotive people of New York. 

The zodiacal sign of May is Gemini (the twins), named 
Castor and Pollux, who are fabled to have appeared to sailors 
in storms with lambent fires on their heads, as propitious to 
the mariner. 

May is synonymous with sunny weather ; the state of the 
weather, by the way, is an ever-fruitful theme of discourse 
with all sorts of people at all sorts of times. It seems ever 
uppermost in our thoughts, or upon the tip of the tongue. 

" It is worthy of note when two friends meet together 
The first topic they start is the state of the weather — 
It is always the same, both with young and with old : 
'Tis either too hot, or else 'tis too cold, 
'Tis either too wet, or else 'tis too dry. 
The glass is too low, or else 'tis too high ; 
But if all had their wishes once jumbled together, 
No mortal on earth could exist in such weather." 

We now approach the rosy month of June. It was by the 



THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 359 

Romans called Junius^ in honor of tlie ^outh who served 
Regulns in the war ; or it was more probably derived from 
Juno, the goddess of heaven. 

The Saxons gave it the name of weyd-monath, from the 
German weiden, to pasture. 

This is the season for fresh and fragrant flowers — those 
gaudy and brilliant gems Is"ature bedecks herself withal : the 
very air is perfumed with their rich odors, and, in the words of 
Coleridge,^ 

" Many a hidden brook, in this leafy month of June, 
To the sleeping woods aU night singeth a quiet tune." 

Toward the close of the month, that pleasant rural occupa- 
tion, hay -making, commences: the country now begins to 
assume a most beautiful aspect — here the corn is already begin- 
ning to peep out, here the meadows are mown and cleared, 
and here again the grass still waves in all the rich luxuriance 
of wild flowers. 

We have now completed just half the circuit of the calen- 
dar, and it is high noon of the year ; suppose we indulge in a 
brief homily upon Time — by way of tempering our trifling, 
and in order to save our sobriety from shipwreck. How im- 
portant is it that we duly value the passing moment — all we 
can boast of Time in possession — yet are we not ever prone 
rather to indulge vain regrets for the past, or eager anticipa- 
tions for the future ? 

" The past ! what is it but a gleam which memory faintly throws ? 
The future ! 'tis the fairy dream that hope and fear compose. 
The present ! is the Hghtning glance that comes and disappears : 
Thus life ia but a moment's trance of memories, hopes, and fears ! " 

"Spare minutes are the gold-dust of time," says a quaint 
author ; " of all portions of our life they are the most to be 



360 THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 

guarded and watc^hed, for they are the gaps through which 
idleness tempts us astray." An impartial review of the past is 
fraught with instruction to the future : 

" 'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours, 
And ask them what report they bore to heaven." 

Midsummer, also, naturally reminds us of the meridian of 
life — a point in our history when we may, with advantage, 
take a retrospective, as well as a prospective survey ; when the 
premonitions of an occasional gray hair, or wrinkle on the 
brow, are too decisive to be mistaken. 

" The more we live, more brief appear 

Our life's succeeding stages : 
A day to childhood seems a year, 

And years like passing ages. 
Heaven gives our years of fading strength 

Indemnifying fleetness ; ■ 
And those of youth a seeming length. 

Proportioned to their sweetness." * 

The sultry summer month of July is now come, — when Sol 
is in the ascendant, and in his glowing ardor to entertain his 
guests, gives to all creation such an ardent greeting. PuncKs 
humorous apostrophe is too good to be omitted in this place : it 
runs in this wise : 

" Well done, thou glorious orb ! well done, indeed, 
Thou sun ; for nature now is one great feast, 
Roasted, and boiled, and fried, and baked, by thee. 
Thy fire hath boUed the fishes ia the streams ; 
Roasted the living mutton on the Downs ; 
Fried aU the parsley on its very bed ; 
And baking the potatoes under ground, 
Hath cooked them growing ; so that men may dig 
'Taters aU hot ! " 

* Campbell. 



THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 361 

This month is distiuguished by its Dog-days. That every 
dog has his day^ is an admitted axiom, but why the canine 
fraternity at large should thus monopolize this particular part 
of the calendar, we cannot divine ; and as we prefer not to dog- 
matize^ we respectfully refer the reader to an old authority, 
and a witty dog into the bargain — Dog-herry. Whether it is 
that they expect to run mad with impunity during this term, 
to the terror of all mayors and municipalities ; or whether it is 
because all the rest of the year they get kicked out of sight, 
that this brief interval is secured for their jubilee, we are alike 
unable to determine ; and must, therefore, leave the learned in 
such matters to decide, and shall be content to con-cur in their 
decision. 

Tom Hood has something to add on the subject, which we 
subjoin : 

"Most do^edly I do maintain, and hold the dogma true — 
That four-legged dogs although we see we've some that walk on two, 
Among them there are clever dogs — a few you'd reckon mad, 
While some are very jolly dogs and others very sad. 
I've heard of physic thrown to dogs, and very much incline. 
To think it true, for we've a pack who only bark and w(h)ine." 

The zodiacal sign of the month is Sirius, which is apparently 
one of the largest objects in the sidereal heavens. 

St. Swithin's Day is memorable from the tradition that, if 
there should be rain on that day, it would continue for forty 
days afterward. 

The " glorious Fourth " is the national birthday of Freedom 
in the United States, when the Sovereign people indulge in 
the exercise of the " largest liberty," and by way of canonizing 
the goddess disturb the quiet air with incessant booming of 
guns, firing of pistols, and rushing of rockets. 

The golden August now bursts upon us — that gorgeous 



302 THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 

month, most rife with all sorts of delicious fruits and sheaves 
of garnered grain. 

This month is introduced by Lammas-day — one of the great 
thanksgiving festivals of former time : and it closes under the 
saintly patronage of Jerome. Harvest- home, the rustic jubilee 
of rural life, also belongs to this glorious month. 

August was called Sextilis by the Romans, from its being 
the sixth month in their calendar, until the Senate compli- 
mented Augustus by naming it after him, because he had then 
first entered upon his consulship, having subdued Egypt to 
the Roman dominion ! 

The Saxons called this month arn-monath, more rightly 
barn-monath, indicating the filling of barns with corn. 

The zodiacal sign of the month — that of Yirgo — the Virgin . 

St. Bartholomew's Day occurs on the 24:th of this month : 
and it possesses a sad notoriety for its connection with the hor- 
rible butchery of 1572, in Paris. 

The splendor of the- summer months now gives place to the 
sober tints of russet autumn. 

A pastoral writer observes, "Autumn, yet with her hand 
grasped in the feeble clasp of Summer, as if the latter were 
loth to depart, still retains much green hanging about the 
woods, and much blue and sunshine about the sky and earth. 
But the leaves are rustling in the forest paths, the harvest-fields 
are silent, and the heavy fruit that bows down the branches 
proclaims that the labor of Summer is ended — that her yellow- 
robed sister has come to gather in and garner the rich treasures 
she has left behind." 

Hope, who looked with a cheerful countenance upon the 
landscape of Spring, has departed. Instead of watching each 
green and flowery object, day by day, as it budded and blos- 
somed, we now see only the traces of slow and sure decay, the 
green fading, bit by bit, until the leaves become like the skele- 



THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 363 

ton wings of an insect, the wind blowing through those places 
which were before marked with azure, and crimson, and gold. 
The sun himself seems growing older; he rises later from hia 
bed in the morning, and returns to rest earlier in the evening, 
and seems not to have that strength which he possessed when 
he rose in the youthful vigor of Spring, and the bright and 
cheerful manhood of Summer ; for his golden eyes seem 
clouded, and his breath thick and heavy, as he struggles 
through the surrounding fog. All these are marks of the sea- 
sons, telling us that tlie year is growing gray, and slowly tot- 
tering towards the darkness and grave-like silence of Winter. 

Seasons — Punch suggests that an assertion so frequently 
made, that it is impossible to arrest the flight of Time, is alto- 
gether erroneous, for who is there that cannot stop a minute. 

" A moral character is attached to autumnal scenes — the 
leaves falling like our years, the flowers fading like our hours, 
the clouds fleeting like our illusions, the light diminishing like 
our intelligence, the sun growing colder like our affections, the 
rivers becoming frozen like our lives — all bear secret relations 
to our destinies." * 

The name September, being derived from Sej>tem, seven, 
indicates its order in the Roman Calendar, prior to the Julian 
reform. The zodiacal sign is the constellation of Libra, or the 
Balance ; because when the sun entered this asterism it seemed 
to hold the days and nights in equilibrio, giving the same pro- 
portion of light as darkness to tlie inhabitants of all parts of 
the globe. 

The transition from autumnal richness to the desolation of 
winter is gradual, almost imperceptible, like our own advanc- 
ing years. Miller, the poet, thus writes about it : 

" Forest scenery never looks so beautiful as in Autumn. It 
is then that Nature seems to have exhausted all the fantastic 

* Chateaubriand. 



364: THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 

colors of her palette, and to have scattered her richest red, 
brown, yellow, and purple upon the foliage. Every gust of 
wind that now blows brings down thousands of golden-colored 
acorns, that come pattering like little feet among the fallen 
leaves, leaving empty their smooth, round, hollow cups, from 
which the old poets in their fables framed the drinking 
vessels of the fairies." 

October is from the Latin octo, eight ; with the Saxons it 
was styled winterfyllith — winter beginning. 

The principal Saints' days of this month are those of St. 
Dennis — who, according to the legend, walked two miles with 
his head in his hand, after it had been cut off — and of St. 
Crispin, the patron of the shoe-making fraternity. 

One of the Comio Almanaos attempts the facetious on this 
month, in the following playful stanzas : 

" The sum of Summer is cast at last, 

And carried to Wintry season, 
And the frightened leaves are leaving us fast. 

If they stayed it would be high trees-on. 
The sheep, exposed to the rain and drift, 

Are left to all sorts of wethers^ 
And the ragged young birds must make a shift 

Until they can get new feathers." 

In noting the chronicles of Time, we find "The pale, 
descending year, yet pleasing still;" for although the sere a«id 
yellow leaf now greets us, where a short time since all was 
verdant, and Nature has doffed her gay attire, yet is there 
great beauty even in the blanched and frozen landscape, 
which dull spirits deem all dreary, desolate, and dead. 

Shelley's exquisite dirge is known to many readers ; it may 
not be to all ; listen : 

" The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, 
The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying. 



THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 365 

And the year 
On the eaxth, her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, 

Is lying, 
Come months, come away, from November to May, 

In your saddest array ; 
Follow the bier of the dead, cold year. 
And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre." 

November is the next month we reach ; its name being de- 
rived from novem — nine. 

All-Souls Day occurs on the second of this month — conse- 
crated to the memory of those saintly personages of yore, to 
the invocation of whom the Church had not assigned any par- 
ticular date. The closing day of November is St. Andrew's ; 
St. Cecilia has also conferred a ghostly honor on this month, 
as well as upon music. 

"We close our notice of this notable month with a brief but 
elegant passage from the pen of that sunny and healthful 
writer, Leigh Hunt. " November," he says, " with its loss of 
verdure, its frequent rains, the fall of the leaf, and the visible 
approach of winter, is undoubtedly a gloomy month to the 
gloomy, but to others its brings but pensiveness — a feeling very 
far from being destitute of pleasure ; and if the healthiest and 
most imaginative of us may feel their spirits pulled down by 
reflections connected with earth, — its mortalities and its mis- 
takes, we shall but strengthen ourselves the more to make 
strong and sweet music with the changeful but harmonious 
movements of nature." 

December, from Decern — ten. The Saxons named it winter- 
monath. 

We have watched the progress of the year, from its birth to 
its death. We have watched the procession of the sister 
months, and in their course the successive seasons — the bright, 
brilliant, and evanescent glories of the joyous spring, the gor 



866 THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 

geous sunsets of tlie sultrj summer, the rich exuberance of 
fruit-bearing autumn ; and now we are fairly in companionship 
with the frigid winter, with its brief days and prolonged nights. 
"We are reminded here of a very literal reason once rendered, 
in reply to the inquiry, as to the cause of the length of days in 
summer, and their brevity in winter ; namely, that it the na- 
ture of heat to expand, and of cold to contract. 

Punch thus refers to the frozen desolation of winter : 

' ' There is a stoppage in the currency 
Of all the streams, which cannot liquidate 
Their tribute to the sea. The frozen soU, 
Hard up, no more repays the husbandman. 
Each object, crusted o'er with rime and snow — 
Seems whitewashed. Of their furniture the trees 
Are stripped ; and everywhere distringas reign. 
On one vast picture of insolvency 
We gaze around ; and did we not repose 
In Mother Earth's resources confidence 
Should see no prospect of a dividend 
Of sixpence in the pound ! " 

'November and Y)QQ,errhher are called the embers of the dying 
year. 

The famous festival of St. ISTieholas — " the boy-bishop," and 
the tutelar saint of childhood — is celebrated on the sixth. 
Dreary, indeed, would this ice-clad month be, were it not for 
the glowing associations of its merry Christmas, with its holly 
and mistletoe, and the gladsome gatherings and rejoicings of 
social life. What bright visions of joyous faces, well-spread 
tables, and happy firesides, does it kindle up in the memory ; 
and with what glowing and grateful contrast does the dreary 
desolation without invest the radiant and jubilant scenes of the 
domestic hearth. The hearty and generous hospitality which 
characterizes Christmas celebrations — with the old, orthodox 



THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 367 

accessories of that delicious conglomerate of all good things — 
plnin-pudding, and its accompaniment, the glorious sirloin — • 
are enough to tempt the veriest anchorite to participate in 
Epicurean delights ; for surely the palate that could not appre- 
ciate, nay, luxuriate over such dainty and delectable dishes, 
must have become sadly perverted and depraved. 

The term Christmas is derived from the Latin Church — it is 
properly Christi Massa (the Mass of Christ). 

In former times, the celebration of Christmas began in the 
latter part of the previous day — Christmas Eve. The house 
was first decked with holly, ivy, and other evergreens. Candles 
of an uncommon size were then lighted under the name of Christ- 
mas candles ; an enormous log, called the Yule log, or Christ- 
mas block, was laid upon the fire, while the people sat round, 
regaling themselves with beer. In the course of the night 
small parties went about from house to house, singing what 
were called Christmas Carols, commemorative of the nativity 
of our Lord. 

Twelfth-day — the anniversary of the adoration of the magi 
— occurs on the twelfth day after Christmas. Many curious 
customs are associated with its celebration, in Great Britain 
and on the Continent. Thus we find in the Gentleman's Mag- 
azine for 1759, in the record for January : " Being Twelfth- 
day, his majesty went to the Chapel Royal, with the usual 
solemnity, and offered gold, myrrh, and frankincense, in three 
purses, at the altar, according to ancient custom." 

Time is the universal talent, subjecting every man living to 
a chai'ge and an account. Within its circles all our other 
talents turn. They are the wheels within this great wheel, 
whose united movement causes it to revolve, for, as they are 
duly exercised, Time is successfully employed. It is the entail 
of humanity, come down to us as our inalienable heritage ; 
and, as in the law of primogeniture, unencumbered with our 



368 



THE CYCLE OF THE SEASONS. 



father's debts. May we prove sucli wise occupants and inheri- 
tors of this valuable property, that, whatever may be the 
passing anxieties of its tenure, we may realize its profits here- 
after I 

" 'Tis not for man to trifle 1 Life is brief, 
And sin is here. 
Oar age is but the falling of a leaf, 

A dropping tear. 
We have no time to sport away the hours ; 
AH must be earnest in a world like ours. 

" Not many lives, but only one have we; 

One, only one — 
How sacred should that one life ever be — 

That narrow span ! 
Day after day filled up with blessed toil, 
Hour after hour still bringing in new spoiL" 





PASTIMES OF THE PEN. 

" Of all writers, the poet," wrote Washington Irving, " be- 
comes the most fascinated with his gentle vocation. Others 
may write from the head, but he writes from the heart, and the 
heart will always understand him. His writings contain the 
spirit, the aroma, if I may use the phrase, of the age in which 
he lives. They ^re caskets which enclose within a small com- 
pass the wealth of the language — its family jewels, which are 
thus transmitted in a portable form to posterity." " There is a 
pleasure in poetic pains," we have been told ; and not seldom 
have the votaries of the muse had to learn in suffering what 
they teach in song; yet what poet has not strung his lyre to 
the honor of his muse, and with Chaucer rather have 



" At his bedde's head 
A twenty bokes, clothed in blacke and red, 
Of Aristotle, and his phylosophie, 
Than robes rich, or fiddle, or psalterie." 



24 



370 PASTIMES OF THE PEX. 

The pleasures of writing are among the chief incentives to 
authorship. There are millions of men, says Byron, who have 
never written a book, but few who have written only one. 

"Literature," says a modem essayist, "has its solitary pleas- 
ures, and they are Tnany / it has also its social pleasures, and 
they are more. 

In the olden time, when life went on its way less swiftly, 
men of meditative character had leisure for retirement and 
study ; and albeit they indulged somewhat in verbose prolixity, 
yet they did the world some service, for they gathered for us 
many a sweet flower of rhetoric and of poesy, the sweets of 
which we have since sought to distil, although the blossoms 
have faded away. 

The domestic life of genius has afforded many touching in- 
stances of happy contentment under privation, and of the 
heroic pursuit of knowledge under difiiculties; because sus- 
tained and inspired by a devotion to study. 

Who would not like "to have seen Richardson reading chap- 
ters of his novels to his listening friends, in his favorite grotto ; 
or Sterne, by his own fireside with his daughter copying, and his 
wife knitting ; or Scott, with his favorite dogs, amid the antique 
armorial insignia of his sanctum, at Abbotsford ; or Dickens, in 
his, at Gadshill, surrounded with the multitudinous creations of 
his fertile fancy ? Then think of Milton, in his blindness, in- 
diting those majestic measures concerning a Paradise Lost and 
Regained. Humble yet stately as to his worldly aspect, but how 
imperial as to his mental ; and how good as well as great ! Like 
Shakespeare, Burke and Goldsmith, in their respective depart- 
ments, what have they not achieved and what does not the world 
owe to their genius ? 

Scott and Goethe alike confessed their obligations to the 
Vicar of WaJtefield ; and it has been welcomed, like the Pit- 
griiji's Progress, with smiles and tears by myriads of readers. 



PASTIMES OF THE PEN. 371 

It has been well said, therefore, that " Books are not seldom 
talismans and spells." With most of the poets, Homer, 
Spenser, and Shakespeare have been ever favorite books. 
Alexander the Great is said to have slept with a copy of 
Homer under his pillow. Plutarch's Lives was one of 
Franklin's favorite works, as his own practical maxims have 
been of many in later times. 

Cobbett's earliest choice of a book was Swift's Tale of a 
Tub ; and strangely enough it seems to have had a quicken- 
ing influence upon his mind. He seems to have been delighted 
with it, carrying it about with him wherever he went. Three 
of Byron's favorite books were, Burton's Anatomy of Melan- 
choly^ D'Israeli's Literary Character^ and Scott's Novels. 
"Who does not remember that fairy book, the Arabian Nights, 
and the exploits of Don Quixote f 

In spite of all mutations, the cadences of the true muse must 
live still in the sweet echoes that reverberate through the 
caverns of human thought. The poet's forms of speech are 
deathless, for in him 

" Language was a perpetual Orphic song, 
Which ruled, with D^dal harmonie, a throng 
Of thoughts and forms." 

Let US now note some of the curious modes in which writers 
have indulged their quaint conceits and felicitous thoughts. 

About the middle of the seventeenth century, the scribes, or 
rather those whose ambition was not of the most soaring ordei', 
used to divert themselves and rack their inventive powers by 
torturing and twisting their verses into odd devices and shapes, 
expressive of the themes they discussed — as might be expected, 
to the serious detriment of their poetic merit. Many of these 
fantastic performances were of grotesque or even ludicrous de- 
scription. 



372 PASTIMES OF THE PEN. 

It was the literary humor of a certain Maecenas, when he en- 
tertained his scribes, to place at the head of the table those who 
had published huge folios, next to them authors in quarto, and 
below them the octavos and duodecimos. As specimens of in- 
genious trifling, we might mention the minute document pre- 
sented to Queen Elizabeth. It comprised the Decalogue, Creed, 
and Lord's Prayer, all beautifully written in the compass of a 
finger-nail. Yet the early scribes found it much easier to write 
up to a folio than down to a duodecimo ; for the condensing 
process was an art with which they were wliolly unacquainted. 

The fancy for alliteration is far from being a novelty ; it 
prevailed among the Elizabethan poets, and the yet earlier 
ballads and nursery ditties, which, although they still remain 
with us, date back as far as the renowned " Peter Piper," who 
is said to have " picked a peck of pickled peppers," and that 
other worthy, " Theophilus Thistlethwaite," who thoughtlessly 
" thrust three thousand thistles through the thick of his thumb ! " 
Many, indeed, of our poets occasionally indulged in this allit- 
erative fancy; for example, Southey, in his Falls of LodorSy 
and Edgar Poe, in his rhythmical Bells. One of the most 
ingenious, if not the most ingenious, of alliterative poems in our 
language, is the following, the authorship of which is, we be- 
lieve, unknown. It is entitled the " Siege of Belgrade." 

" An Austrian army, awfully arrayed, 
Boldly, by battery, besieged Belgrade ; 
Cossack commanders cannonading come, 
• Dealing destruction's devastating doom ; 
Every endeavor engineers essay, 
For fame, for fortune fighting — furious fray ! 
Generals 'gainst generals grapple — gracious God I 
How honors Heav'n heroic hardihood ! 
Infuriate, indiscriminate, in ill. 
Kinsmen kill kindred, kindred kinsmen kill ! 
Labor low levels longest, loftiest lines; 



PASTIMES OF THE PEN. 373 

Men march 'mid mounds, 'mid moles, 'mid murd'rous mines; 

Now noisy, noxious numbers notice naught 

Of outward obstacles opposing ought ; 

Poor patriots ! partly purchas'd, partly press'd, 

Quite quaking, quickly ' quarter, quarter' quest. 

Reason returns, reUgious right redounds, 

Suwarrow stops such sanguinary sounds ; 

Truce to thee Turkey ! triumph to thy train ! 

Unjust, unwise, unmerciful Ukraine ! 

Vanish vain victory ! — vanish victory vain ! 

Why wish we warfare ? wherefore welcome were 

Xerxes, Ximenas, Xanthus, Xavier, 

Yield, yield, ye youths ! ye yeomen yield your yell ! 

Zeno's, Zarpater's, Zoroaster's zeal ; 

Attracting all, arms against acts appeal." 

As affording an illustration of the union of sound and sense, 
we select from many other examples the following well-known 
lines of Pope : 

" When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, 
The words, too, labor, and the line moves slow : 
Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, — 
Flies o'er the imbending com, and skims along the main." 

Even the grave Dr. Johnson could relax occasionally from 
his severer studies, as the following lines attest : 

' ' If the man who turnips cries 
Cry not when his father dies, 
'Tis a proof that he had rather 
Have a turnip than his father ! " 

As an ingenious play upon words and sounds, rather than 
a collection of " wise saws," we cite the chorus to a popular 
London street song : 

" I saw Esau kissing Kate, 

And the fact is, we all three saw ; 
For I saw Esau, he saw me, 
And she saw — I saw Esau ! " 



374 PASTIMES OP THE PEN. 

We offer another example of the use of a word in a variety 
of senses and witty combinations : 

" He took her fancy when he came, 

He took her hand, he took a kiss, 
He took no notice of the shame 

That glowed her happy face at this ; 
He took to coming afternoons, 

He took an oath he'd ne'er deceive, 
He took her master's silver spoons ! 

And after that — he took his leave." 

The following is from one of Quarles' Emblems : 

" We sack, we ransack to the utmost sands, 
Of native kingdoms, and of foreign lands ; 
We travel sea and soil, we pry, we prowl. 
We progress and we prog, from pole to pole." 

Some writer, referring to this old scribe, observes that " he is 
neither prolix, prosy, or pragmatic, though often queer, quaint, 
and querulous." So it seems he minds hiss's if not his cj^s. 

The celebrated cacophonous couplet, on Cardinal "Wolsey, is 
ingenious, each word, in each line, beginning and continuing 
with the same letter : 

' ' Begot by butchers, but by bishops bred. 
How high his Honor holds his haughty head ! " 

Ingenious literary trifling, it may be called ; but we must 
remember that much of it owes its origin to monkish seclusion, 
or the quiet of the scholar's hermitage ; we may well excuse an 
occasional indulgence in such trivialities. Monastic life must 
have been a monotonous one at the best, and needed something 
to beguile it of its tedium. 

Here is an example of what has been called Concatenation, or 



PASTIIVIES OF THE PEN. 375 

cliaiu verses, in whicli the last phrase of eveiy line is the first 
of the following : 

" The longer life, the more offence : 

The more offence, the greater pain ; 
The greater pain, the less defence ; 

The less defence, the lesser gain ; 
The loss of gain long iU doth try, 
Wherefore, come, death, and let me die ! 
Come, gentle death, the ebb of care ; 

The ebb of care, the flood of life ; 
The flood of life, the joyful fare ; 

The joyful fare, the end of strife ; 
The end of strife, that thing wish I, 
Wherefore, come, death, and let me die ! 

The merit of the following specimen of monastic verse con- 
sists in its being alike acrostic^ mesostic, and telestic : 

" Inter cuncta micans " Igniti sidera coeH 
ExpeUit tenebras E toto Phoebus ut orbE 

Sic ceecas removet JESUS caliginis umbraS 
Vivificansque simul Vero prsecordia motV 

Solem justitise." Sese probat esse beatiS." 

The following translation preserves the acrostic and mesostic, 
thongh not the telestic form of the original : 

" In glory, see the rising sun, Illustrious orb of day, 

Enlightening heaven's wide expanse, Expel night's gloom away. 
So light into the darkest soul, JeSus, Thou dost impart 

UpUfting thy life-giving smiles, Upon the deadened heart, 

Sun, Thou of righteousness divine. Sole King of saints Thou art." 

Perhaps the most remarkable anagram known is that on the 
Latin of Pilate's question to the Saviour, 

" Quid est Veritas ? — ^Est vir qui adest. 
An anagram, which is a species of literary trifling, is the 



376 PASTIMES OF THE PEN. 

transposition of the letters of a sentence into a new combina- 
tion, still retaining its characteristic applicability. 

Some of the old monkish scribes, known as the lipogram- 
matists, used to beguile their leisure by composing a poem on 
a given subject, from wliich some particular letter of the 
alphabet should be excluded. Gregorio Leti jDresented a dis- 
course to the Academy of the Humorists at Rome, wherein the 
letter r was excluded ; and a friend having requested a copy, 
as a literary curiosity, he replied by a copious answer of seven 
pages, written in the same manner. 

Another description of eccentric poetry that might be men- 
tioned is that wherein every word of a poem begins with the 
same letter ; of which the Pugna Porcorum is an instance, 
containing about three hundred lines, every word of which 
begins with the letter^. 

Macaronio poetry is a mixing of words from different lan- 
guages, like a dish of macaroni ; in its more general accepta- 
tion it includes alliterative verse and other peculiar and 
affected styles of writing. For example, the line of Ennius : 

' O Tite, tute, Tati, tibi tanta, Tyranne, tulisti." 

And the following, which has been attributed to Prof. Per- 
son: 

" Cane decane cane, ne tu cane cane decane, 
De cane sed canis cane decane cane." 

A monk of the Benedictine order, Folengi, of Venice (better 
known as Merlin), was a noted writer of this kind of poetry in 
Latin. lie lived during the first half of the sixteenth century. 
In later times, Drummond of IlaM^thornden wrote the first 
British macaronic poem ; then followed Dr. Geddes (1737- 
1802), who wa-ote several small volumes of this kind of litera- 
ture. 



PASTIMES OF THE PEN. 377 

Porson once observing that be could pun on any subject, a 
person present defied him to do so on the Latin gerunds, which, 
however, he immediately did in the following admirable coup- 
let: 

" When Dido found jEneas would not come, 
She sat in silence, and was Di-do-dum." 

The anagram is formed by the transposition of the letters of 
a name, by which a new word or phrase of some characteristic 
sio^nificance with the former is formed. One of the most sue- 
cessful specimens is that by Dr. Burney on Horatio JVelson, — 
Honor est a JSTilo, — referring to his celebrated victory. 

One of the most skilful anagrams known was that on Ma- 
gliahechi, by Pere Finardi : Antonius Magliabechius — Is unus 
hibliotheca magna. 

Among ingenious literary fabrications. Swift's celebrated 
Latin puns deserve a prominent place, for they have never 
been excelled. This species of composition consists of Lathi 
words, and allowing for false spelling and the running the 
words into each other, makes good sense in English as well as 
Latin. For example — 

" Apud in is almi de si re, "A pudding is all my desire, 
Mimis tres I ne ver re qui re, My mistress I never require, 

Alo veri findit a gestis, A lover I find it a jest is, 

His miseri ne ver at restis." His misery never at rest is." 

" Mollis abuti, "Moll is a beauty, 
Has an acuti. Has an acute eye, 

No lasso finis. No lass so fine is, 

Omni de armistress. Oh my dear mistress, 

Cantu disco ver, Can't you discover, 

Meas alo ver ? " Me as a lover." 

Here is another waif belonging to the same class : 

" There was a bard in sad quandary, 
To find the rhyme for Tipperary ; 



\ 



378 PASTIMES OF THE PEN. 

He hunted through the dictionary, 
But found no rhyme for Tipperary ; 
He rummaged the vocabulary, 
But still no rhyme for Tipperary ; 
He applied unto his mother Mary, 
To know the rhyme for Tipperary ; 
But she, good woman, knew her dairy, 
But not the rhyme for Tipperary." 

Among rhythmical puns may be cited the Hnes attributed 
to the bard of Avon, whether correctly or not, we need not 
stay to inquire. We subjoin the first and third stanzas 
only: 

" Would ye be taught, ye feathered throng, 

With love's sweet notes to grace your song. 

To pierce the heart \vith thrilling lay, 

Listen to mine Anne Hathaway 1 

She hath a way to siug so clear, 

Phoebus might, wondering, stop to hear 1 

To melt the sad, make blithe the gay. 

And nature charm, Anne hath a way ; 

She hath a way, 

Anne Hathaway : 

To breathe delight, Anne hath a way." 
****** 

Talk not of gems, the orient list. 
The diamond, topaz, amethyst, 
The emerald mild, the ruby gay. 
Talk of my gem — Anne Hathaway ! 
She hath a way, with her bright eye, 
Their various lustre to defy — 
The jewel she, the foil, they. 
So sweet to look, Anne Hathaway ; 

She hath a way, 

Anne Hathaway : 
To shame bright gems Anne hath a way ! " 

Here is another poetical play upon a name not unworthy of 



PASTIMES OF THE PEN. 379 

a place here. It is an epigram upon a lady rejoicing in the 
name of Rain : the author is not known : 

" While shivering beaux at weather rail, — 
Of frost and snow, and wind and hail. 

And heat and cold complain ; 
My steadier mind is always bent, 
On one sole object of content, 

I ever wish for Rain ; 
Hymen, thy votary's prayer attend, 
His anxious hope and suit befriend. 

Let him not ask in vain ; 
His thirsty soul, his parched estate, 
His glowing breast commiserate — 

In pity give him — Rain ! " 

Here are a few more eccentricities of the pen, which have 
been styled Paronomasia (which is the short for play upoE 
words) : 

" Write, we know is written right, 
Then we see it written — write ; 
But when we see it written wright, 
"We know it is not %vritten right : 
For write, to have it written right. 
Must not be written, right or wright. 
Nor yet should it be written rite ; — 
But write, for so 'tis ^vritten right. " 



"Now, that is a word, that may often be joined. 
For that that may be doubled is clear to the mind ; 
And that that that is right, is as plain to the view. 
As that, ilmt tliat that we use, is rightly used, too. 
And that that that tlmt that line has in it, is right — 
In accordance with grammar — is plain in our sight. " 



' ' Schott and Willing did engage in duel fierce and hot ; 
Schott shot Willing ^villingly, and Willing he shot Schott. 
The shot Schott shot made Willing quite a spectacle to see. 
While WiUing's willing shot went right through Schott's anatomy. 



380 PASTIMES OF THE PEN. 

" I cannot bear to see a bear bear down upon a hare, 
"When bare of hair he strips the hare, for hare I cry, ' forbear ' 1 " 

As an instance of echo-versifying, Addison's song is note- 
worthy : 

"Echo, tell me, while I wander o'er this fairy plain to prove him, 
If my shepherd still grows fonder, ought I, in return, to love him ? 

Eclu) — Love him, love him. 
" If he loves, as is the fashion, shotdd I churlishly forsake him ? 
Or, in pity to his passion, fondly to my bosom take him ? 

EcJw — Take him, take him. ' 
Hei'e is another example : 

" Has Phoebe not a heavenly brow ? 
Is it not white as pearl — as snow ? 

Ass! no! 
' ' Her eyes — was ever such a pair ? 
Are the stars brighter than they are ? 

They are! 
" Echo, thou liest, — but can't deceive me ; 
Her eyes eclipse the stars, — beUeve me — 

Leave me ! 
' ' But come, thou saucy, pert romancer. 
Who is as fair as Phoebe ? answer ! 

Ann, Sir!^* 

The line from Gray's " Elegy," " The ploughman homeward 
plods his weary way," has been found to admit of eighteen 
transpositions, without destroying the rhyme, or altering the 
sense ; the reader will be content with the following : 

" The weary ploughman plods his homeward way. 
The weary ploughman homeward plods his way. 
The ploughman, weaiy, plods his homeward way. 
The ploughman, weary, homeward plods his way. 
Weary the ploughman plods his homeward way. 
Weary the ploughman homeward plods his way. 
Homeward the ploughman plods his weary way. 
Homeward the weary ploughman plods his way. 
Homeward the ploughman, wearj-, plods his way. 



PASTI5IES OF THE PEN. 381 

The homeward ploughman weary plods his way. 
The homeward ploughman plods his weary way." 

The following mongrel stanzas afford a good instance of 
Mosaic verse : 

" The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
In every clime, from Lapland to Japan ; 
To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray 
The proper study of mankind is man. 

" Tell ! for you can, what is it to be wise, 

Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain ? 
' The man of Ross ! ' each lisping babe replies. 
And drags, at each remove, a length'ning chain. 

" Ah ! who can tell how hard it is to climb 
Far as the solar walk or milky- way ? 
Procrastination is the thief of time, 
Let Hercules himself do what he may. 

" 'Tis education forms the common mind, 
The feast of reason and the flow of soul ; 
I must be cruel only to be kind, 
And waft a sigh from Indus to the pole. 

•' Syphax ! I joy to meet thee thus alone, 
Where'er I roam, whatever lands I see ; 
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown, 
In maiden meditation fancy free. 

" Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, 

Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; 
Laugh where we must, be candid where we can, 
Man never is, but always to be blest." 

Here is another specimen of literary ingenuity. Two words 
of opposite meanings, spelled with exactly the same letters, 
form a Telestick ; that is, the letters beginning the lines — when 



882 PASTIMES OF THE PEN. 

united — were to give one of the words, aud the letters at the 
end were to produce the other — thus : 

" U-nite and untie are the same — so say yo-U 
N-ot in wedlock, I wean, has the unity bee-N 
I-n the drama of marriage, each wandering gou-T 
T-o a new face would fly — all except you and I, 
E-ach seeking to alter the spdl in their scen-E." 

Hood, the " prince of punsters," never exceeded, perhaps, the 
following adroit surprises of this one stanza : 

" His death^ which happened in his berthy 
At forty odd befeU ; 
They went and told the sexton, and 
The sexton tolled the bell." 

Scott said once that some of his friends were bad accountants^ 
but excellent hooh-Jceepers. Hood has some witty lines on the 
subject of literary larceny : 

" How hard, when those who do not wish to lend — that's lose — their books, 
Are snared by anglers — folks that fish with literary hooks, 
Who call and take some favorite tome, but never read it through. 
They thus complete their set at home, by making one of you 1 
I, of my Spenser^ quite bereft, last winter sore was shaken ; 
Of Lamb, Pve but a quarter left, nor could I save my Bacon. 
They picked my Locke, to me far more than Brahma's patent worth ; 
And now my losses I deplore, without a Home on earth ! 
My life is wasting fast away — I suffer from these shocks 
And though I've fixed a lock on Gray, there's gray upon my locks." 

We ought to supplement the foregoing with Punches advice 
under such circumstances, to wit : " Never lend your books." 

Hood's Nocturnal Sketch is a successful illustration of a 
triple .rhyme. Most bards are content with one rhyme at the 
end of the line, but here we have three, without weakening the 
sense. 

"Even has come, and from the dark park, harkl 
The signal of the setting sun — one gun J 



PASTIMES OF THE PEN. 383 

And six is sounding from the chime, — prime time 

To go and see the Drury Lane Dane slata; 

Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out, 

Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade : 

Or in the small Olympic pit, sit split, 

Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz ! 

Anon, Night comes — and with her wings, brings things 

Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung : 

The gas upblazes with its bright, white Ught, 

And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growL 

Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads, 

And sleepers grumble — " drat that cat ! " 

Who in the gutter catterwauls, squalls, mauls. 

Some feline foe, and screams in shrill iU-wiU. 

While nurse-maid in a nightmare rest, chest-pressed, 

Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Grames ; 

And that she hears — what faith is man's — Anne's banns. 

And his, from Reverend Mr. Rice, twice, thrice ! 

White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out. 

That upward goes, shows Rose knows those beaux's woes ! " 

At the commencement of our desultory gossip concerning 
the eccentricities of the pen we referred to some of the pet- 
books of authors ; we all have our especial book-loves — books 
that nestle closely around our affections, and which through 
life we cling to with the ardor of a first-love. 

Do we err, gentle reader, in suspecting that such literary 
loves are thine? That some select favorites occupy the place 
of honor on the shelves of thy library ? Were we to venture 
a conjecture as to who these favorites of thine may be, we 
should instinctively be guided by our own choice. Does not 
honest Izaak Walton belong to the category ? For a sequestered 
place and hour whc could be preferred before him — so replete 
with genial sentiment and sagacious aphorism? Do not Haz- 
litt, Leigh Hunt, and Charles Lamb form a triumvirate of wor- 
thies unsurpassed in belles-lettres? For winter's fireside or 
summer-time ramble who can offer to us pleasanter matter of 



384 PASTIMES OF THE PEN. 

discourse than Elia ; so charged with electric wit and subtle 
humor ? And are not the delightful collectanea of literary cu- 
riosities of D'Israeli an inexhaustible resource of intellectual 
pleasure ? If, a- weary and toil-w^orn, we turn from the din and 
turmoil of the world, what can be devised better suited to be- 
guile our cares into peace ; and if we can excuse their prolixity, 
are there not also Montaigne, and Burton ; seed-books for cen- 
turies of later writers and rife as ever with curious and saga- 
cious facts and fancies. Then, again, we do not forget the 
essayists and novelists, Irving, Dickens, and Bulwer ; and the 
priesthood of song, from Shakespeare to Tennyson and Long- 
fellow, Yes, we subscribe to the sentiment of the poet where 
he sings : 

" Oh, sweet 'twill be — or hope would so believe, 
When close round life its fading tints of eve 
To turn again, our earlier volumes o'er, 
And love them then, because we've loved before, 
And inl y bless the waning hour that brings 
A will to lean once more on simple things. 
If this be weakness, welcome life's decline, 
If this be second childhood, be it mine," 





PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 

The " odor of sanctity " which attaches to the office of the 
Christian ministry has ever claimed and received the deference 
of mankind. The ancient seers, prophets, and patriarchs who 
were commissioned to make known the will of the Supreme, 
under the impulse of a direct inspiration, were regarded as 
supernatu rally endowed, and their utterances deemed oracular. 
A commission divinely authorized and invested with such moral 
grandeur, demands a corresponding elevation of character — 
intellectual, moral, and religious — in those who assume its 
functions ; and the world naturally looks for these accessories. 

"A parson," writes George Herbert, "is the deputy of 
25 



386 PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 

Christ for the reducing of man to the obedience of God." He 
further quaintly adds : " His apparel is plain, but reverend, and 
clean without spots or dust ; the purity of his mind breaking 
out and dilating itself, even to his body, clothes, and habi- 
tation." This remark of Herbert probably originated the 
saying that " cleanliness is next to godliness," which has been 
ascribed to John Wesley. 

Some regard the clerical profession with a blind, super^i- 
tious reverence — these are the victims of priestcraft. There 
are others with equal absurdity, who deem it the asylum of 
infatuation and indolence — these are the sceptical and profane. 
A third class are those who appreciate its worth, and who ven- 
erate the sacred office, regarding it as Heaven's expedient for 
securing the moral elevation and happiness of the race ; an 
institution of the highest importance to man's present and 
eternal well-being. 

That the embassj' -v^^ith which the Christian minister is 
charged is one of difficulty, is undeniable, for it has to contend 
against the moral forces constantly in operation in the human 
heart, which are antagonistic to its claims. Yet the sacredness 
of its sanctions may well fire the zeal of its advocate, and ren- 
der him superior to all opposition. 

Among the early Christians the modern style of preaching 
was reversed ; the preacher generally delivered his exhortation 
in a sitting posture, while the congregation heard him standing, 
Chrysostom preached in this manner. 

It is related even of Constantine the Great that he did not 
resume his seat during a long sermon by Eusebius, and that all 
the assembly followed his example. 

The old English name, parson, is supposed to be a corrup- 
tion of person, the person — by eminence. Fuller remarks that 
the Scriptures give four names to Christians, taken from the 
four cardinal graces : Saints, for their holiness ; believers, for 



PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 387 

their faith ; brethren^ for their love ; discvples, for theii' 
knowledge. 

The clergy were originally styled clerks, from the ISTorman 
custom of their judges being chosen from the sacred order. 
In the first century, they were distinguished by the titles of 
presbyter and bishops. Cliurch music is supposed to have been 
first introduced by Gregory the Great, a.d. 602, Church- 
steeples were originally parochial fortresses. 

Sydney Smith tlius defines the object of preaching : " It is 
constantly to remind mankind of what mankind is constantly 
forgetting ; not to supply the defects of human intelligence, 
but to fortify the feebleness of human resolutions ; to recall 
mankind from the by-paths where they turn, into the path of 
salvation which all know but few tread." 

The aims and topics of the pulpit have been eloquently con- 
densed by Talfourd. We transcribe the passage : 

" The subjects of the pulpit have «ever been varied from 
the day the Holy Spirit visibly descended on the first advocates 
of the gospel in tongues of fire. They are in no danger of 
being exhausted by frequency, or changed with the vicissitudes 
of mortal fortune. They have immediate relation to that eter- 
nity, the idea of which is the living soul of all poetry and art. 
It is the province of the preacher of Christianity to develop 
the connection between this world and the next; to watch over 
the beginning of a course that will endure forever, and to trace 
the broad shadows cast from imperishable realities on the shift- 
ing scenery of earth. The mysteries of our being, life and 
death, both in their strange essences and in their sublimer re- 
lation, are topics of their ministry. There is nothing affecting 
in the human conditions, nothing majestic in the affections, 
nothing touching in the instability of human dignities, the 
fragility of loveliness, or the heroism of self-saci-ifice, which ig 
not a theme suited to their high purposes. It is theirs to dwell 



388 PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 

on the oldest history of the world ; on the beautiful simplicity 
of the patriarchal age ; on the stern and awful religion, and 
marvellous story of the Hebrews ; on the glorious visions of 
the prophets and their fulfilment ; on the character, miracles, 
and death of the Saviour ; on all the wonders and all the 
beauty of the Scriptures." 

What a sermon should be, may be gathei-ed from the follow- 
ing : " It should be brief ; if lengthy, it will steep our hearts 
in apathy, our eyes in sleep. It should be warm, a living altar- 
coal, to melt the icy heart and charm the soul. It should be 
simple, practical and clear ; no fine-spun theory to charm the 
ear. It should be tender and affectionate, as His warm theme, 
who wept lost Salem's fate. It should be mixed with many an 
ardent prayer, to reach the heart, and fix and fasten there." 

We are as much under law to religion as to morals. " Mor- 
ality, without religion, is only a kind of dead reckoning — an 
endeavor to find our place on a cloudy sea, by measuring the 
distance we have to run, but without any observation of the 
heavenly bodies." 

" Oratio est clavis diei, et sera noctisj'^ — the key of the day, 
and the lock of the night, is prayer. This was the beautiful 
saying of a monk of olden time, and it is fragrant for all sea- 
sons. 

Luther said : " Prayer, meditation, and temptation make a 
minister." Another vigorous phrase of his is well known — 
''Bene orasse, hene studuisse^'' — to pray well, is to study well. 
Prayer is not, however, the solemn duty of the clergy alone, 
but of all ; the common privilege of dependent creatures. An 
old writer has quaintly said : " God looks not at the oratory 
of our prayers, how eloquent they are ; nor at their geometry, 
how long they are ; nor at their arithmetic, how many they 
are ; nor at their logic, how methodical they are ; but he looks 
at their sincerity, how spiritual they are." 



PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 389 

A Neapolitan monk, named Gabrielle Barlette, wished on one 
occasion to rebuke the distracting thoughts which too often be- 
set men when engaged in prayer. He ilhistrated the point by 
introducing a priest engaged in his morning devotions, and say- 
ing, "Pater noster qui es in coelis " — (I say, lad, saddle the horse, 
I'm going to town to-day !) sanctificatur nomen tuum — (Cathe- 
rine, put the pot on the fire), fiat voluntas tua — (take care, the 
cat's at the cheese), panem nostrum quotidianum — (mind the 
white horse has his feed of oats). This seems like double deal- 
ing, and yet it does not necessarily follow that these monks of 
old meant to be undevout ; it was rather the natural result of 
formalism. 

" Texts have always been regarded with curiosity and inter- 
est, have been selected from worthy and unworthy motives ; 
they have been applied and misapplied, and made the vehicles 
for personal and political allusions ; with wilful ingenuity and 
unscriptural spirit, they have been turned into jokes, twisted 
into puns, and treated with as little scruple as though they had 
been the words of heathen poets ; they have been manipulated 
by abbreviated quotations, and tortured with false emphasis, in 
order to present oddities and incongruities by no means in ac- 
cordance with the original terms ; and we can hardly wonder 
at. so much attention being drawn to the text that it fi*e- 
quently eclipses the sermon in the memory of its hearers." 

Whitefield once gave as his text, " There came unto Him cer- 
tain lawyers ; " and then apparently detected his purposed mis- 
quotation, and said, " not certain lawyers, but a certain lawyer. 
It was wonderful that even one lawyer should have been found 
to do this ; it would have been perfectly incredible had there 
been more ; " the point of this lying in the circumstance that some 
lawyers were present who had expressly come there to scoff at 
him. A Shrewsbury dissenting minister preached a funeral ser- 
mon for the Rev. John Angell James, of Birmingham, from 



390 PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 

the combined texts, " A man sent from God whose name waa 
John. I saw the Angel fly in the midst of heaven. James the 
servant of God." The first portion of this text is also said to 
have been used by the Archbishop of Yienna, when he 
preached before John Sobieski, King of Poland, who had de- 
livered Vienna from the Turks. " There is no fool like the 
foolhardy," was the text of the Rev. Dr. Williamson, who had 
a quarrel with a parishioner named Hardy. " Adam, where 
art thou ? " was the text of the probation sermon of Mr. Low, 
who, with a Mr. Adam, was a candidate for a lectureship ; 
" Lo, here I am ! " was the responsive text of his rival, Mr. 
Adam. When Dr. Motmtain, longing for a vacant bishopric, 
preaclied before Charles II., his text was, " If thou hadst faith 
as a grain of mustard-seed, and said unto this mountain, be 
thou removed and cast into the see, it should be done." 

When Dr. Bradon was rector of Etham in Kent, the text he 
one day took to preach from was, " Who art thou ? " Just at 
the instant a military functionary, somewhat verdant, supposing 
the question addressed to himself, was marching up the middle 
aisle of the church, and replied, " I am, sir, an oflScer of the 
17th regiment of foot, on a ' recruiting party here ' ! " 

A certain bishop, in a sermon to his parishioners, repeated 
the above text, " All flesh is grass." The season was Lept, 
and a few days afterward he encountered one of his flock, who 
appeared to have something on his mind. " The top of the 
mornin' to 3^our riverence," said Terence ; " did I fairly under- 
stand your riverence to say,' All flesh is grass,' last Sunday ? " 
" To be sure you did," replied the bishop, " and you're a here- 
tic if you doubt it." " Oh, I don't doubt anything your river- 
ence says," was the reply, " but I wish to know whether in this 
Lint time I could not be after havin' a small piece of hafe by 
way of a salad ? " 

An eccentric dominie, Mathew Byles, of Boston, Mass., in 



PULPIT PECULIAKITIES. 391 

1776, seems to have been as inveterate a joker as. Sjdnej> 
Smith. Upon a fast day, Dr. Byles had negotiated an ex- 
change with a country clergyman. Upon the appointed morn- 
ing, each of them — for vehicles were not common then — pro- 
ceeded on horseback to liis respective place of appointment. 
Dr. Byles no sooner observed his brother clergyman ap- 
proaching, at a distance, than he applied the whip, put his 
horse into a gallop, and with his canonicals flying all abroad, 
passed his friend at full run. ""What is the matter?" he ex- 
claimed, raising his hand in astonishment ; " why so fast, 
Brother Byles?" To which the doctor without slackening his 
speed replied over his shoulder, " It is fast day ! " 

As he was once occupied in nailing some list upon his doors, to 
exclude the cold, a parishioner said to him, " The wind bloweth 
wheresoever it listeth, Dr. Byles." " Yes, sir," replied the doc- 
tor, " and man listeth wheresoever the wind bloweth." 

Byles was arrested as a Tory, and subsequently tried, con- 
victed, and sentenced to confinement on board a guard-ship, and 
to be sent to England with his family in forty days. This sen- 
tence was changed, by the board of war, to confinement in his 
ovra house. A guard was placed over him. After a time the 
sentinel was removed, afterward replaced, and again removed, 
when the doctor exclaimed, that he had been guarded, re- 
garded, aiul disregarded. He called his sentry his ohserv-O/- 
tory. 

The two celebrated divines and scholars. Doctors South and 
Sherlock, were once disputing on some religious subject, when 
the latter accused his opponent of using his wit in the contro- 
versy. " Well," said South, " suppose it had pleased God to 
give you wit, what would you have done ? " 

Among the eccentricities of the pulpit we ought not to omit 
the temperance lecture ascribed to a Mr. Dodd, of Cambridge, 
England. On one occasion, when challenged to preach against 



392 PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 

intoxication, he delivered the following unpremeditated short 
sermon, under a tree, by the roadside, from the word 
tnalt. He commenced by stating that lie had chosen a short 
text, which could not be divided into sentences, there being 
none ; nor into words, there being but one ; he therefore 
divided it into letters, thus: M, is moral, A, is allegorical, L, ia 
literal, T, is theological. His exposition ran as follows : The 
moral is to teach you good manners ; therefore, M, my masters, 
A, all of you, L, leave off, T, tippling. The allegorical is, when 
one thing is spoken of, and another meant. The thing spoken 
of is malt, the thing meant is the spirit of malt, which you 
make, M, your meat. A, your apparel, L, your liberty, and T, 
your trust. The literal is, according to the letters, M, much, 
A, ale, L, little, T, trust. The theological is, according to the 
effects it works in some, M, murder, in others. A, adultery, in 
all, L, looseness of life, and in many, T, treachery. 

A certain minister had a custom of writing the heads of his 
discourse on small slips of paper, which he placed on the Bible 
before him, to be used in succession. One day, when he was 
explaining the second head, he got so excited in his discourse 
that he caused the ensuing slip to fall over the edge of the pul- 
pit, though unperceived by himself. On reaching the end of his 
second head, he looked down for the tliird slip ; but, alas ! it 
was not to be found. " Thirdly," he cried, looking round him 
with great anxiety. After a little pause, " Thirdly," again he 
exclaimed ; but still no thirdly appeared, " Thirdly, I say, my 
brethren," pursued the bewildered clergyman ; but not another 
word could he utter. At this point, while the congregation 
were partly sj^mpathizing in his distress, and partly rejoicing in 
such a decisive instance of the impropriety of using notes in the 
preaching — which has always been an unpopular thing in the 
Scotch clergy — an old woman rose up and thus addressed the 



PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 393 

preacher : " If I' a nae mista'eiij sir, I saw thirdly flee out at the 
east window a quarter of an hour 83'ne." 

Frederick the Great being informed of the death of one of 
his chaplains took the following method of ascertaining the 
merits of one of the candidates for the appointment. He told 
the applicant that he would himself furnish him with a text the 
following Sunday, when he was to preach at the royal chapel, 
from which he was to make an extempore sermon. The cler. 
gyman accepted the proposition. The whim of such a proba- 
tionary discourse was spread abroad widely, and at an early 
hour the royal chapel was crowed to excess. The king arrived 
at the end of the prayers, and on the candidate's ascending the 
pulpit, one of his majesty's aides-de-camp presented him with 
a sealed paper. The preacher opened it and found nothing 
therein ; turning the paper on both sides, he said : " My breth- 
ren, here is nothing, and there is nothing ; out of nothing God 
created all things ; " and proceeded to deliver a discourse upon 
the wonders of Creation. 

The following anecdote illustrates the peculiarities of charac- 
ter of western pioneer life, as well as of a certain " presiding 
elder," Peter Cartwright. When the State of Illinois was 
admitted into the Union it was as a free State. Not long 
after the question was largely discussed 'whether the Consti- 
tution of the State should not be so amended as to permit 
slavery. Cartwright, who then resided in Tennessee, was a 
strong opponent of slavery, and determined to remove to Illi- 
nois to take part in the settlement of the question. So he was 
appointed " Presiding Elder " over a district about as large as 
England. He kept his appointments, and after preaching on 
Sunday was wont to announce that on Monday he would 
deliver a " stump speech." He soon became regarded as a poli- 
tician, and no little auger was excited against him. One day 
coming to a ferry across the river, where he was not personally 



394 PULPIT PECFLIARITIES. 

known, he heard the ferrj-man holding forth to a crowd in bit- 
ter terms against that "old renegade," — prefixing snndrj em- 
phatic expletives to that flattering term — Pete Cartwright, 
declaring that he would drown him if he ever came that way. 
After a while Peter engaged the ferry-man to put him over. 
They were alone in the boat, and when they had reached the cen- 
tre of the stream, in full sight of the shore, the preacher, throw- 
ing the bridle of his horse '^'"er a post, ordered the ferry-man to 
put down his pole. " What is the matter ? " asked the ferry 
man. "You have just been making free with my name and 
threatening to drown me in the river. I want to give you a 
chance to do so." "You are Pete Cartwright, are yon?" 
" My name is Peter Cartwright," i-eplied the preacher. The 
ferry-man, nothing loath, laid down his pole, and the contest 
began. The preacher proved the better man, and seizing his 
antagonist by the nape of the neck and the seat of his nether 
garments, plunged him three times under water. Then hold 
ing his head out of the water, he asked, " Did you ever pray ? " 
" No," was the reply. " Then it is time you should." The 
ferry-man refused, and down went his head under water, 
and there it was held long enough, as Peter thought, to conquer 
his reluctance. He raised him up and repeated his demand. 
" Let me breathe," gasped the ferry-man. " Give me a few min- 
utes to think about it." " Not a moment," and under went his 
nead again. The inquiry was again put when the ferry -man's 
head was next raised, " Will you pray now % " " Yes, I'll do 
anything," and the fellow obediently repeated the Lord's 
Prayer, after the dictation of Cartwright. " Now let me up," 
he added. " No, not yet," replied the inexorable Peter. " You 
must make me three promises before I let you up. First, you 
must promise to pray every night and morning as long as you 
live ; then you must promise to put every Methodist preacher 
who comes along over the rivor for nothing ; and lastly, you 



PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 395 

must promise hereafter to attend every meeting of the Method- 
ists Iield within four miles of you." The whole transaction 
took place in full view of the ferry-man's comrades on the 
shore, but the intervening river insured " fair play," and the 
ferry-man felt himself in Cartwright's hands. lie promised 
faithfully to do all that was demanded of him.* 

Rather a remarkable incident is related of the preaching 
of Dr. Lyman Beecher. Many 3^ears ago he was engaged 
to officiate in Ohio ; it was in the depth of winter, and the 
roads were nearly impassable with snow, yet the doctor pur- 
sued his journey, and, on reaching the church, found not a 
single individual there. With his characteristic decision of 
purpose he ascended the pulpit and waited the arrival of his 
congregation. One solitary person at length entered, and the 
doctor commenced the service. At the conclusion he hast- 
ened to greet his auditor, but he had vanished. Some score 
of years subsequently the parties accidentally met, when the 
pleasing fact was communicated to the doctor that that ser- 
mon had proved the means of his conversion, and that he 
had since become himself a minister over a larofe cone:re£ra- 
tion. 

Louis XIV. said one day to Massillon, after hearing him 
preach at Versailles : " Father, I have heard many great ora- 
tors in this chapel ; I have been highly pleased with them ; but 
for you, whenever I hear you, I go away displeased wit) 
myself, for I see more of my own character." This has been 
considered the finest encomium ever bestowed upon a 
preacher. 

There are many amusing things related of the notorious ortw 
tor, Henley : One day at a coffee-house he met a friend, when 
the following dialogue ensued : " Pray what has become oi 

* MilburiL 



396 PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 

our old friend, Smith ? " said Henley; " I have not seen him 
for several years." " I really do not know," was the reply ; 
" the last time I lieard of him he was at Ceylon, or some of 
our other settlements in the West Indies." " My good sir, in 
one sentence there are two mistakes ; Ceylon is not one of our 
settlements, and it is situated in the East Indies, not the 
West." " That I deny," said the gentleman, with some heat. 
" More shame for you," responded Henley. " I will engage to 
bring a boy of eight years old who will confute you." " Well, 
be it where it may, thank God, I know very little about these 
sort of things ! " " What ! you thank God for your ignorance, 
do you ? " "I do, sir," answered the gentleman, in a violent 
rage; " what then ? " " Sir, you have a great deal to be thank- 
ful for," was Henley's sarcastic reply. 

Among incorrigible punning parsons may be named Dr. 
Barton, who, when the fellows of his college wished to have an 
organ in the chapel, said, "I put a stoj> to it!" It is said two 
friends, Mr. Crowe and Mr. Rooke, were invited to dine with 
him, where they met with a Mr. Birdmore. " Allow me, 
Crowe and Rooke, to introduce to you one Bird more," he ex- 
claimed. He married his niece to a gentleman of the hope- 
ful name of Buckle : " Ah ! " lie said, " a pair of Buckles." 
Hearing that a valetudinarian, who had recovered his health by 
a diet of milk and eggs, had espoused a wife, he is reported to 
have said, "So you have been egged on to matrimony; I hope 
the yolce will sit easy on you." 

During: the reis^n of Charles II. it was the fashion to in- 
dulge to excess the habit of humorous preaching. Sterne 
seems to have revived the custom, and South's discourses 
sparkle perpetually with wit and pun. 

Eccentricities and angularities of character are not excluded 
from the clerical profession of modern times any more than the 
past. The well-known name of Rowland Hill has long been 



PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 397 

associated with pulpit peculiarities. This worthy ecclesiastic 
was once preachiug for a charitable institution, when a note 
was handed up to the pulpit asking whether it would be con- 
sistent for a bankrupt to contribute. Mr. Hill referred to the 
note and, of course, decided against such an act, but added, " I 
would advise all who are not insolvent not to pass the plate 
without giving, lest they should be considered bankrupt. On 
another occasion, when preaching at St. John's, "Wapping, he 
said, " I am come to preach to great sinners, notorious sinners, 
wajpping sinners." One wet Sunday he noticed some persons 
crowding into Surrey Chapel to be sheltered from a shower of 
rain, and he thus referred to the circumstance: "Some people 
are blamed for making religion a cloak^^ he said, " but I do 
not think those are much better who make it an umbrella." 
Many other stories told of this remarkable man are fictitious, 
among them those which reflected upon his wife's love of dress, 
and that of throwing his Bible at a sleeper. 

A dissenting minister once complaining of the dealing he met 
with from an ecclesiastical hoard, to Rowland Hill, observed 
that "for his part he did not see the difference between a 
board and a bench," meaning that the rule of his board was 
as stringent as that of the bishops. " Pardon me, my friend," 
replied Hill, " I will show you a most essential difference 
between the two : A board is a bench that has no legs to stand 
upon^ 

With many strong points of character he combined notions 
prodigiously odd. One of those commonly called Antinomians 
one day called on Eowland Hill to call him to account for his 
too severe and legal gospel. " Do you, sir," asked Eowland, 
" hold the ten commandments to be a rule of life to Chris- 
tians ? " " Certainly not," replied the visitor. The minister 
rang the bell, and on the servant making his appearance, he 
quietly added, "John show that man the door, and keep your 



S9S PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 

eye on liiiri until lie is beyond the reach of every article of 
wearing apparel or other property in the hall ! " 

There is a great difference between occasionally introducing 
an illustration, which may serve its end, though slightly tinc- 
tured with the comic, and that depraved taste which would 
desecrate the sacred desk by the exhibitions of buffoonery. A 
minister should never be insensible to the claims of his mission 
as it is taught in that 

" Book, wherein his Saviour's Testament, 
Written with golden letters, rich and brave : 
A work of wondrous grace, and able souls to save." 

There is a story told of a popular preacher of London, whose 
genius was displayed more in reproducing the thoughts and 
words of others than in the use of his own. His sermons were 
replete with petty larcenies : but as fashionable audiences are 
not proverbial for proficiency in pulpit lore, his ministerial 
misdemeanors were for some time carried on with impunity. 
On one occasion, however, he was detected. A grave old gentle- 
man well-posted came one Sunday, and seating himself close to 
the pulpit, enacted the inquisitor. The preacher had scarcely 
finished liis third sentence before the stranger muttered loud 
enough to be heard by those near him, " That's Sherlock ! " 
The preacher frowned, but went on. He was glibly proceed- 
ing when the tormentor again interrupted him with, " That's 
Tillotson ! " Our clerical plagiarist bit his lip and paused, 
but again thought it better to proceed with his discourse. A 
third exclamation of " That's Blair ! " was, however, too much, 
and completely exhausted his patience. Leaning over the pul- 
pit, he said : " Fellow, if you do not hold your tongue you 
shall be turned out ! " Without altering a muscle of his coun- 
tenance, the imperturbable censor looked up at the incumbent 
of the pulpit, and retorted, " That's his own ! " 



PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 399 

A certain Yorkshire clergyman, who, when asked if he stud- 
ied tlie fathers before he began to write his sermons, said, 
*'No, I rather study the tnothers, for they have the greater 
need of comfort and encouragement." 

A clergyman once preached rather a long sermon from the 
text, " Thou art weighed in the balance and found wanting." 
After the congregation had listened about an hour, some began 
to get weary and went out ; others soon followed, greatly to 
the annoyance of the minister. Whereupon he stopped his 
sermon and said, " That is right, gentlemen ; as fast as you are 
weighed pass out." No one else passed. 

Robert Hall, on one occasion, being disgusted by the egotism 
and conceit of a preacher, who, with a mixture of self-compla- 
cency and impudence, challenged his admiration of a sermon, 
was provoked to say, " Yes, there was one very fine passage in 
your discourse, sir." " I am rejoiced to hear you say so — which 
was it ? " was the reply. " Why, sir," said Hall, " it was the 
passage from thejpulpit to the vestryT 

Some divines are often too deeply read in theology to apj^re- 
ciate the full grandeur and the proper tendencies of religion. 
Losing the abstract in the concrete, the comprehensive in the 
technical, the principal in its accessories. Such are in the pre- 
dicament of the rustic who could not see London for the 
houses. 

Others, claiming to be religious teachers and superiors,^ might 
have done better service in a different department of duty. A 
dull and illiterate leader will produce his kind in those over 
whom he presides, since he but administers theological opiates 
to them, confirming them in their apathy, ignorance, and 
bigotry. How few divines dare venture ^o become original ; 
fewer still have we of rational enthusiasts. 

" How comes it," demanded a bishop, of Garrick, " that I, in 
expounding divine doctrines, produce so little effect upon my 



400 PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 

congregation, while you can so easily rouse the passions of your 
auditors by the representation of fiction ? " The answer was 
short and pithy : " Because I recite falsehoods as if they were 
true, while you deliver truths as if they were fiction." 

Robert Hall, even, admitted that he was tormented with the 
desire of preaching better than he did. He was for greater 
earnestness and zeal. It was said of Rowland Hill's preach- 
ing, that his ideas, like Baxter's, came hot from the heart. 
This is effective preaching. Keble sweetly suggests — 

" Love on the Saviour's dying head, 

Her spikenard drops, unblamed, may pour ; 
May mount his cross, and wrap him dead, 

In spices from the golden shore. 
Risen, may embalm his sacred name 
With all a painter's art, and all a minstrel's flame." 

Steele observes : " When a man has no design but to speak 
plain truth he may say a great deal in a very narrow com- 
pass. The true pulpit style is that which brings the intellect 
down through the heart, and melts all its precious metals in 
that glowing furnace. Prolixity in preaching is an ancient 
heresy of the priesthood. As if conscious of this weakness, the 
Greek and Latin fathers used hour-glasses in their pulpits to 
admonish them when to wind up. George Herbert says : " The 
pai-son exceeds not an hour in preaching, because all ages have 
thought that a competency." Southey cites a passage from 
the church records, in 1564, of St. Catharine's, Aldgate, Lon- 
don, which is as follows: " Paid for an hour-glass that hanged 
by the pulpit when the preacher doth make a sermon, that He 
may know how the hour passeth away." 

There are few things against which a preacher should be 
more guarded than prolixity. "Nothing can justify a long 
sermon. If it be a good one it need not be long ; and if it be 
a bad one it ought not to be long." Luther, in the enumera- 



PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 401 

tion of nine qualities of a good preacher, gives as the sixth, 
" That he should know when to stop." Boyle has an essay on 
patience under long preaching. 

John Aylmer, bishop of London in the time of Queen Eliza- 
beth, having a congregation not so attentive as they ought to 
have been, began reading the Bible in the Hebrew. The 
strange sounds disturbed the sleepers, who awoke one after 
another; and when the minister perceived this, after he ad- 
monished them for their indifference to the Bible in the vul- 
gar tongue, he proceeded with his sermon. 

The sin of sleeping during divine service is of no modem 
date. In Henry VII.'s Chapel, Westminster Abbey, there were 
ingeniously contrived stalls for preventing the drowsy monks 
indulging a nap. 

A celebrated clergyman once told his parishioners he should 
reserve the best efforts of his mind for rainy days — the worse 
the weather the better should be his sermons — and he kept his 
word. The consequence naturally was that his church was 
never so well filled as in wet weather, and the harder tJie rain 
poured down the more the people flocked in, until it finally 
became his practice to include in his prayers rainy Sundays ! 

A well-known clerical personage was on one occasion found 
in a pew instead of a pulpit, listening to a dull and prolix dis- 
course, when he began to grow sleepy. " You were caught 
napping," said a friend, " and I suppose cannot tell me what 
the sermon was about ? " " Yes I can," he replied ; " it was 
about an hour too long ! " 

Dean Swift, whom our artist has so well sketched, once 
preached at Dublin Cathedral, from Acts xx. 9 : " And there sat 
in the window a certain young man, named Eutychus, being 
fallen into a deep sleep," etc. " I have chosen these words," he 
said, " with a design, if possible, to disturb some part of this 
audience of half an hour's sleep ; for the convenience and 
26 



402 PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 

exercise whereof this place, at this season of the day, is very 
much celebrated. The accident which happened to the young 
man in the text hath not been sufficient to discourage his suc- 
cessors ; but because the preachers now in the world, however 
they may exceed Paul in the art of setting men to sleep, do 
extremely fall short of him in the working of miracles, there- 
fore men are become so cautious as to choose more safe and 
convenient stations and postures for taking their repose, with- 
out hazard of their persons, and upon the whole matter choose 
rather to trust their destruction to a miracle than their safety." 
Robert Hall's afternoon sermons — masterly as they were — 
were attended by a very small yet appreciative audience, which 
he once described as consisting equally of those who were 
asleep and those who were going to sleep ! 

Sydney Smith once said, in speaking of the prosy nature of 
some sermons, " they are written, as if sin were to be taken out 
of man, like Eve out of Adam — by putting him to sleep." 

Dr. Barrow once preached so long that all his congregation 
dropped off, leaving the sexton and himself alone. The sexton 
finding the doctor apparently no nearer a conclusion, said to 
him, "Sir, here are the keys; please to lock up the church 
when you get through your discourse." 

A somewhat peculiar expedient was adopted by a minister 
in New York, some years since, while holding forth to his con- 
gregation in a style that ought to have kept them awake. 
Suddenly he stopped in his discourse, and said, " Brethren, I 
have preached about half of my sermon, and I perceive that 
twenty-five or thirty of my congregation are fast asleep. I 
shall postpone the delivery of the remainder of it until they 
wake up ! " There was a dead pause for about five minutes, 
during which time the sleepers awoke, when the preacher 
resumed. Another instance might be cited which proved no 
less effective. A worthy divine, in a church at Norwich, 



PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 403 

Connecticut, observing many sleeping, paused awhile and then 
said, " I come now to the third head of my discourse, to which 
I ask the serious and candid attention of all who are not asleejp,^^ 
emphasizing the last word. 

" Benevolence," said Sydney Smith, in a charity sermon, 
" is a sentiment common to human nature. A never sees B 
in distress without wishing C to relieve him." 

Once when preaching a charity sermon, he repeated the 
assertion that, of all nations. Englishmen were most distin- 
guished for generosity and the love of their species. The 
collection happening to be inferior to his expectations, he 
said that he had evidently made a great mistake, for that his 
expression should have been that they were distinguished for 
the love of their specie. 

Franklin, in his " Memoirs," bears witness to the extraordinary 
effect which was produced by Whitelield's preaching in Amer- 
ica, and relates an anecdote equally characteristic of the 
preacher and of himself. "I happened," he says, "to attend 
one of his sermons, in the course of which I perceived he 
intended to Unish with a collection, and I silently resolved he 
should get nothing from me. I had in my pocket a handful 
of copper money, three or four silver dollars, and five pistoles 
in gold. As he proceeded I began to soften, and concluded to 
give the copper. Another stroke of his oratory made me 
ashamed of that, and determined me to give the silver ; and 
lie finished so admirably that I emptied my pocket wholly 
into the collector's dish, gold and all." 

We have referred to prolix preachers and jocular preachers, 
as well as drowsy congregations ; but we have not alluded to 
one of the modern clerical innovations, whose aim it is to su- 
persede the simplicity and integrity of Divine worship. We 
refer to the Ritualistic part}'' in the Episcopal Church, which 
Punch portrays as, LatitudinaHans, Platitudinarians, and 



404 PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 

Attitudinaria7is ! The same authority also points these perti 
nent questions : 

"Friend Ritualist, how cau a cope 
Encourage any Christian hope ? 
And what advantage hath a stole 
To render his immortal soul ? 
Aught can a chasuble conduce 
To any spiritual use ? 
In what way can an alb relate 
To anybody's future state 
Or Dalmatics concern hereafter ? 
No more expose thyself to laughter." 

Sydney Smith said : " Puseyism consists of inflections and 
genuflections, posture and imposture, bowing to the east and 
curtesying to the west." 

Dean Swift has the following pointed remarks about absen- 
tees from church : " There is no excuse so trivial that will not 
pass upon some men's consciences, to excuse their attendance 
at the public worship of God. Some are so unfortunate as to 
be always indisposed on the Lord's day, and think nothing so 
unwholesome as the air of a church. Others have their affairs 
so oddly contrived as to be always unluckily prevented by busi- 
ness. With some it is a great mark of wit and deep under- 
standing to stay at home on Sabbath. Others again discover 
strange fits of laziness, which seize them particularly on that 
day and confine them to their beds. Others are absent out of 
mere contempt for religion. And, lastly, there are not a few 
who look upon it as a day of rest ; therefore claim the privilege 
of their cattle to keep the Sabbath by eating, drinking, and 
sleeping, after the toil and labor of the week." 

Coleridge, referring to the theological literature of the sev- 
enteenth century, asserts it as his conviction " that in any half 
dozen sermons of Donne or Taylor there are more thoughts, 
more facts and images, more incitements to inquiry and intel- 



PULPIT PECULIARITIES. 405 

lectual effort, than are presented to the congregations of our 
day in as many churches or meetings during twice as many 
months. The very length of the discourses with which these 
rich souls of wit and knowledge fixed the eyes, ears, and hearts 
of their crowded congregations are a source of wonder to us. 

The pulpit may be styled the palladium of the world's vir- 
tue — the conservator of its liberties, the panacea for its woes, 
and the prophecy of its future restoration and glory. Its pre- 
rogative is to exert a paramount power over the human heart. 
Its themes are sublime and momentous — the arcana of science 
are rendered tributary to its teachings, because the works illus- 
trate the Will of the Supreme. This mission of the gospel it 
was that fired the zeal of that worthy of old, whose eloquent 
apj)eals " shook Areopagus and reverberated through the Fo- 
rum." 

" The Christian priesthood, although the temptation incident 
to conventional elevation may have served to develop among 
them many of the subtler forms of evil latent in the undisci- 
plined heart, is yet lustrous with many virtues. What sweet- 
ness has baptized tlie clerical fimction in the past ! What for- 
titude, what self-denial, what patience, what labor in season and 
out of season, have been the heritage of the great mass of these 
men ! What stores of learning have they accumulated ; what 
splendid additions have they made to the best literature of 
every land ; how they have enriched the sciences by their ob- 
servation and studious inquiries ; how they have kept the flame 
of patriotism aglow ; how they have encouraged the generous 
ambition of youth and directed it to worthy and useful ends ; 
how they have dignified the family altar and cherished the 
purity of women and diffused through society the charm of 
honest and gentle manners ; all these things must be cordially 
acknowledged by every one competent to speak on the ques- 
tion." This tribute to the pulpit is by Dr. Chapin. 



406 



PULPIT PECULIAEITIES. 



" Religion," said Webster, " is the tie that connects man with 
his Maker and holds him to His throne. A man with no sense 
of relio-ious duty is he whom the Scriptures describe in such 
terse but terrific language, as living 'without God in the 
world.'" 

" Come, blest religion, then, and with thee bring 
Peace on thy smile, and healing on thy wing." 



*l^ 








THE SHRINES OF GENIUS. 



"The love 
Of mighty minds doth hallow, in the core 
Of human hearts, the iruin of a wall 
Where dwelt the wise and wondrous." — Byron. 

Theee is a low-roofed, antique room belonging to an old pile, 
situated in the very heart of old England, to which multitudes 
of pilgrim feet are ever tending from all parts of the civilized 
globe. Among these spell-bound hosts are most of the illustri- 
ous sons of science and song, seeking to do homage at that hum- 
ble homestead, as though it were the " Mecca of the Mind," the 
great central shrine of genius ; and such indeed it really is ! It 
is now nearly three centuries since that great literary luminary 
that first dawned upon us there, left the sphere of earth ; and 
yet such is the spell of his traiftcendent genius that his name 
and fame shed a greater intellectual glory to-day over the world 



408 THE SHRINES OF GENmS. 

than ever they have done before ! A rudely painted sign-board 
projects from the front of that small, mean-looking edifice to 
tell us that the immortal Shakespeare was born there. The 
walls of the room of his nativity are so closely covered over 
with names and inscriptions, in almost every language, as to re- 
semble at a distance spiders' webs. On the memorable twenty- 
third of April, 1616, the poet was left sleeping, as to his mortal 
part, in the church which had witnessed his baptism and his 
marriage. The closing scene of his own life-drama claims for 
us a deeper and more touching interest than that of any of those 
renowned creations of his genius that so charm the world. 
Washington Irving thus beautifully describes the grave of 
Shakespeare : " The inscription on the tombstone has not been," 
he remarks, " without its effect ; it has prevented the removal 
of his remains from the bosom of his native place to Westmin- 
ster Abbey, which was at one time contemplated. A few years 
since, as some laborers were digging to make an adjoining 
vault, the earth caved in so as to leave a vacant space almost 
like an arch, through which one might have reached into his 
grave. No one, however, presumed to meddle with his remains, 
so awfully guarded by a malediction ; and lest any of the idle 
or curious, or any collector of relics, should be tempted to commit 
depredations, the old sexton kept watch over the place for two 
days until the vault was finished and the aperture closed again. 
He told me that he had made bold to look in at the hole, but 
could see nothing but dust ! It was something, I thought, to 
have seen the dust of Shakespeare ! " In the chancel of Strat- 
ford Church are Shakespeare's monumental bust and grave, 
already noted ; near by are also the house of Anne Hathaway, 
the lady of his love, and the fine old historic relic of feudal and 
Elizabethan times, Kenilworth Castle ; triple attractions, either 
of which, one would suppose, were sufficient to stir the dullest 
spirits to enthusiasm and pilgrimage. It is a grateful fact to 



THE SHRINES OF GENIUS. 409 

note, that this Shakespearian shrine is to be guarded henceforth 
with a religious care; for had it not been purchased by the 
Shakespearian Society of London, the destroying touch of Time 
would otherwise have soon made it his prey. Pilgrimages have 
ever been made to the shrines of those who have filled the 
world with their fame. Not alone do men make toilsome pil- 
grimage to the sacred sites of Palestine, once hallowed by the 
presence of " Divinity veiled in humanity ; " or the devotees 
of Mahomet make their annual visit to Mecca ; there are yet 
greater multitudes who love to do honor to the memory of the 
good and great among men — such as, having enriched our 
earthly life by the ministry of song or the revelations of sci- 
ence, or in some other forms, have become the benefactors of 
the race, and beautified and glorified our human existence. If 
we refer to the ancient world, think of Babylon, Nineveh, 
Baalbec, Egypt, and Holy Land. Who, visiting the shores of 
the Mediterranean, does not gaze with peculiar interest upon the 
*pots made memorable by the pens of the classic authoi-s? 
Who, when passing through the meadows of Mantua, or amid 
the groves of Umbria, or on the rocky heights of Tivoli, does 
not recall the glowing pages of Horace, Virgil, and Tibullus ^ 
He, indeed, is little to be envied, who can traverse the plain of 
Marathon or the pass of Thermopylae unmoved. Who can 
Avander with Byron amid the ruins of the Forum or the 
Coliseum, and not feel his heart stirred to its depths with the 
clustered memories of the past ? Think of Florence, of Yenice, 
and the manifold historic and literary memorials of France, 
Spain, Belgium, and Germany, with its glorious. Rhine. Nor 
forget the storied castles, homes, and abbeys of Old England 
and Scotland in the days of their ancient chivalry. It is not our 
purpose to make an imaginative tour to the historic sites and 
shrines of the world, but merely to instance the more interesting 
of the literary localities of the land of Shakespeare. 



410 THE SHRINES OF GENIUS. 

How potent is the influence of association. The home of 
childhood — however humble — becomes invested with a thou- 
sand endearing charms, which cluster around the heart with 
sweet and enduring tenacity, compared with which the most 
ravishing beauties of nature or glittering blandishments of art 
lose all their witchery and force. This feeling, which seems 
closely allied to that of consanguinity, love, or friendship, 
transfers itself to inanimate objects, times, and places, which 
the presence of those once loved or venerated may have hal- 
lowed ; thus transforming them into sainted shrines, at which 
memory loves to be the devoted worshipper. Everything con- 
nected with the children of genius awakens our sympathy — 
the places where they have dwelt and labored in thought, which 
have witnessed their sufferings and mental anguish and given 
birth to the brilliant creations of intellect, acquire a sacredness 
and an interest unknown to any other. 

' ' More sweet than odors caught by him who sails 
Near spicy shores of Araby the blest, — 
A thousand times more exquisitely sweet 
The freight of holy f eeUng which we meet 
In thoughtful moments, wafted on the gales 
From fields where good men walk, or bowers wherein they rest." * 

It is a noteworthy fact, that men of genius have usually — 
seemingly in accordance with their lofty, sky-ward aspirations 
— produced their first and greatest works in a garret ! Gold- 
smith, with a host of others known to fame, being in evi- 
dence. The reader will think kindlier of these obscure places 
as he recalls Johnson's fine reflections on local associations ; 
when the scenes we visit suggest the men or the deeds which 
have left their celebrity to the spot. We are in the presence of 
their fame and feel its influence ! 

It was with this feeling that Pope, one day, meeting with a 

* Wordsworth. 



THE SHRINES OF GENIUS. 411 

friend in the Hayraarket desired him to enter a little shop, 
where, going up three pair of stairs into a small room, the poet 
said, " In this garret Addison wrote." We can liardly venture to 
travel out of the domain of our English literature in search of 
these cherished memorials, or we might refer to the house of 
Rubens at Antwerp, and that of Michael Angela and also the 
decorated memorial of Galileo, near Florence. 

No matter how rude and unattractive may be the spot, if but 
the light of genius has glorified it, it becomes henceforth a sa- 
cred shrine, Greece, with all her classic glory, is to the stu- 
dent doubly endeared because Homer, Plato, and Phidias 
were among the nobles of her soil. And great as were the im- 
perial splendors of her Caesars, Italy derives yet greater lus- 
tre from the imperishable names of Raphael, Titian, and Mi- 
chael Angelo, in painting; and from Cicero,Yirgil, Dante, Tasso, 
Petrarch, and Ariosto, in song. And in our own day the same 
is no less true : we instinctively think of Stratford, as the home 
of Shakespeare ; of Abbotsford, as thatof Scott; and of Mossgiel, 
as that of the peasant-poet of Scotland. The Kingdom of Mind 
is the true sovereignty ; and such is the loyal tribute paid to it 
in all ages and climes. Most of the literary magnates of the 
Elizabethan age were accustomed to congregate at inns and 
hostelries — the Mitre, the Mermaid, and others, in the nooks 
and corners of old London. It was at the Mitre tavern that 
Johnson imbibed his port, and Boswell chronicled his patron's 
oracular wisdom. And on the opposite side of Fleet street, at 
No. 8 in Bolt Court, the great lexicographer lived and died, 
after leaving Gough square, where he lost his wife. The 
house no longer exists. Johnson's intemperate taste for tea 
is well-known : and it is on record that a lady on one occasion 
poured Qut for him seventeen cups ; the cups were small, how- 

* Mark Leman. 



il2 THE SHKINES OF GENIUS. 

e\'er.* The " Rainbow," formerly called the "Devil" tavern, 
facing Chancery lane, was the rendezvous of Shakespeare, and 
Ben Jonson with his boon companions in hilarious mirth. Here, 
and at the Mermaid also, might have been seen Raleigh, Spen- 
ser, Sydney, Pope, Addison, Swift, and others of their class 
and time. At No. 3 Ivy lane, leading to the great book mart. 
Paternoster row, there was formerly a tavern, frequented by 
the literati of those days, where, according to the Sj>ectator, 
" was held the Humdrum Club, who used to sit together, smoke 
their pipes, and say nothing till midnight." Franklin worked 
at Wall's Printing-house in 1725, situated in Portugal street, 
Lincoln's Inn Fields ; he lodged at a house facing the Catho- 
lic chapel, in Duke street. 

Milton was born in Bread street, Cheapside : the house was 
burned in the fire of London. The house in which Milton re- 
sided between the years 1651 and 1659 existed only a few years 
back, at No. 18 York street, Westminster. Chalfont, in Buck- 
inghamshire, was another residence of Milton, in which he 
composed " Paradise Regained." The mulberry-tree planted 
by Milton is still flourishing in the pleasant garden of Christ's 
College, Cambridge, where it was planted by the youthful 
student. Its fertility appeared to have undergone no change ; 
in the summer of 1835 it was laden with fruit. 

The birthplace of " Paradise Lost " was at a house in Hol- 
born that looked into "Red Lion Fields" (now Red Lion 
square). In that dim, obscure spot was born the noble Eng- 
lish epic. 

" Pope's house at Binfield has been pulled down, but the poet's 
parlor still exists as a part of the present mansion erected on 
the spot. A patch of the great forest, near Biniield, has been 
honorably preserved, under the name of Pope's Wood. His 
house at Twickenham is gone, the garden is bare, but the cele- 



THE SHRINES OF GENIUS. 413 

brated grotto remains, stript, however, of all that gave it pic- 
turesqueness, grace, and beauty. 

" Cowper's house, at Olney, is still standing in the same ru- 
inous state so humorously described by the poet ; his parlor is 
occupied as a girl's school. The summer house in the garden, 
in which he used to sit conning his verses, also remains, its 
walls covered with visitors' names. His residence in the neigh- 
borino; villao-e of Weston has been much altered, but is still 
beautiful, with a profusion of roses about it." 

The Borough of Southwark, south of the Thames, is mem- 
orable for its Tabard, the hostlerie of Chaucer's " Canter- 
bury Pilgrims," and the wits of the olden time ; although 
little if any of the old building now exists. In its precincts once 
stood the well-remembered Globe theatre, of which Shake- 
speare was at one time proprietor. Shakespeare's first appear- 
ance in public was as an attendant at the door of this theatre, 
which stood near Bankside. Bankside is also full of interest, 
from the fact of its being the spot where the great dramatist 
lived during his stay in London. Near the Globe were the 
Bear Gardens, where Elizabeth, her nobles and ladies, used to 
solace their tender sensibilities with the elegant sport of bear- 
hunting. Two other early dramatists, Beaumont and Fletcher, 
also lived near neighbors with the great dramatist. The mortal 
remains of Fletcher and Massinger rest within the time-honored 
walls of St. Saviour's. 

" Our cathedrals and old churches," observes "Willmott, " gray 
with the rust of centuries, speak to the heart through the eye. 
Death is never unlovely, but meets us with the Gospel upon his 
lips and the garland of hope upon his forehead. Addison 
might well delight to pass an afternoon among the tombs of 
Westminster Abbey. The truest and most cheering eloquence 
speaks from the grave of piety. The white marble monument 
of William of Wykeham is a livelier exhortation to Christian 



414 THE SHRINES OF GENIUS. 

benevolence than a philosophic treatise upon generosity. If we 
delight to keep green the graves of our poets, who have be- 
guiled with their music the sorrows of life, our feelings become 
enlivened by purer elevation when lingering by the sepulchres 
of those who have ministered to us of the oracles of heavenly 
wisdom. "We call to mind their hallowed example of holy liv- 
ing — their illuminated wisdom, their chastened temper, and 
their serene and happy exit from a life of sorrow and self-de- 
nial, which was to them " a baptism unto immortality." 

Among the proud temples of Fame, the grand old Abbey of 
Westminster stands pre-eminent, with its clustered glories of 
gloomy, regal pomp and splendor. Westminster Abbey is it- 
self a vast mausoleum, enriched with the proudest spoils of the 
Destroyer. Here repose the ashes of potentates and poets, he- 
roes and historians, martyrs and confessors. The very walls are 
histories, illustrated by monumental bust and sculptured shrine. 
In the " Poets' Corner " sleep the remains of England's great- 
est bards — from Chaucer' to Campbell ; of Ben Jonson and the 
Elizabethan dramatists ; and of Addison and the essayists and 
philosophers. Here, too, is that marvel of sculptured skill — 
Henry the Seventh's Chapel ; with its gorgeously fretted pend- 
ants and vaulted ceiling ; its knightly bannerets, and last, but not 
least, the sumptuous tomb of the founder, and those of the 
rival queens — Elizabeth and Mary Stuart — now at peace — side 
by side ! 

Henry the Seventh's magnificent tomb was rivalled by the 
grand mausoleum of Halicarnassus, one of the seven wonders 
of the world, which, however, in the twelfth century, being 
overthrown by an earthquake, became a mass of ruins. 

At Agra, Northern Ilindostan, is that marvel of eastern splen- 
dor, the Taj Mahal, the chef-d^muvre of Saracenic art. This 
superb specimen of Oriental splendor was erected by the Em- 
peror Shah Jehan, as a mausoleum for his deceased Avife. It 



THE SHRINES OF GENIUS. 415 

is said to have cost a fabulous sum, equal to nearly sixteen mil- 
lions of dollars. What illustrious vanity ! " All the greatness, 
the pride, the cruelty, and the ambition of man," said one who 
knew how little worth were worldly honors,* " are covered over 
by death with these two narrow words — Hio Jacet! " 

The poets whose lyres are now all unstrung have still be- 
queathed to us the rich legacy of their sweet songs, which, like 
the music of the sylvan streams they loved so well, are ever 
charming us with their melody. 

Westminster Abbey boasts its " Poets' Corner " and St. Paul's 
has its " Painters' Corner " ; for here in the crypt of the cathe- 
dral rest the remains of England's great painters — Reynolds, 
Lawrence Barry, Opie, West, Fuseli, and Turner. In Kensall 
Green Cemetery repose the ashes of a multitude of eminent 
characters, including Sydney Smith, Allan Cunningham, Thack- 
eray, and Kemble ; and in Norwood Cemetery, among many 
other celebrities, Talfourd and Douglas Jerrold. Adieu, then, 
and peace to these gifted sons of genius ; theirs is an immortality 
of fame ; for the world has indeed been enriched by their hav- 
ing passed a brief lifetime in it. Of how much of sorrow have 
they beguiled us, what lessons of wisdom have they not taught 
us by their bright visions of spiritual beauty and cherished hopes 
of a life beyond. 

Then there are other shrines of memory : Waller, in Bea- 
consfield churchyard ; Butler, in St. Paul's, Covent Garden ; 
Young, at Welwyn in Hertfordshire ; Burns, in St. Michael's, 
Dumfries ; Byron, in the church of Ilucknall, near Newstead ; 
Crabbe, at Trowbridge ; Scott, at Dryburgh Abbey ; Southey, in 
Crosthwaite church, near Keswick ; and Wordsworth, in the 
churchyard at Grasmere, hard by the lake he so loved. 

D]'y den's house was in Fetter lane, Lc ndon ; the stately old 

* Sir Walter Raleigh. 



416 THE SHRINES OF GENIUS. 

building was noticeable by its two grim-looking lions in stone, 
over the door. 

Goldsmith has hallowed a dingy spot in London by his resi 
dence there ; it is called Green Arbor Court, Old Bailey. Here 
Oliver resided in the outset of his career, ere his fame dawned 
upon the world ; and here he wrote those amusing papers, which 
were afterwards collected under the title of " The Citizen of 
the "World." The author was writing in a wretched, dirty 
room, in which there was but one chair ; and when he, from 
civility, offered it to his visitors, he himself was obliged to sit in 
the window. This house was the last in the alley, looking on 
a descent known by the name of " Breakneck-stairs." 

East Smithfield was the birthplace of that rare poet of the 
elder school, Spenser. The checkered career of the gentle au- 
thor of the Faerie Queene is familiar to the reader — his resi- 
dence, Kilcolman Castle, Ireland — its being fired by the pop- 
ulace — his return to England — poverty and disasters, and 
subsequent death, in an obscure lodging-house in King street, 
Westminster. His death was more honored than his life ; for, 
says Camden, "his hearse was attended by poets ; and mournful 
elegies and poems, with the pens that wrote them, were thrown 
into his tomb, in Westminster Abbey." 

Lord Bacon has bequeathed the memory of his noble genius 
to Gray's Inn, where he lived and wrote. The corner of Fleet 
street and Chancery lane witnessed the advent of the poet 
Cowley. Two renowned painters, Sir Joshua Reynolds and 
Hogarth, immortalized their art in Leicester square, at the 
house since called the Sabloniere Hotel. 

Byron was born in Holies street. Cavendish square. He 
wrote his " Siege of Corinth " in a house in Piccadill}^, opposite 
the Green Park. Most of his productions were composed in 
Greece and other parts of the Continent. 

It was in one of these aerial abodes, already referred to, that 



THE SHEINES OP GENIUS. 417 

Butler wrote his " Hudibras," which, while it contributed to th^e 
convulsive merriment of the court and all classes of readers, 
left its ill-fated author to pine under the inconvenient prospect 
of starvation. 

It is grateful to reflect, however, that all are not found dom- 
iciled in these upper regions. Some, on the contrary, moved 
not in the upper stories, but among the upper circles of society ; 
such as Pliny, in early times, and Voltaire, Pope, Kogers, and 
others, among the moderns. Others, again, have appeared 
under the most obscure circumstances and bounded into noto- 
riety by the force of their genius. Of this class we might 
mention Keats, the most " poetical of poets," who was born in 
a stable at Moorfields, London. 

Let us pay the j)assing tribute of sympathy at that shrine of 
suffering genius, the last abode of poor Chatterton, whom 
Wordsworth describes as "the sleepless boy who perished in his 
pride ! " After enduring the pangs of mortal hunger for three 
days he destroyed himself, in an obscure house in Brooke street, 
Holborn. At Bristol Cathedral there is a beautiful monument 
to his memory; another illustration of the sad neglect with 
which the children of genius are suffered to pass away from 
among us : they ask bread and we give them — a stone ! 

In Salisbury Court lived Thomas Sackvill, Earl of Dorset, 
the precursor of Spenser. Here also resided Richardson, where 
he kept his printing-office. The Temple is eminently classic 
in its associations. Crown-office Row, Temple, was the birth- 
place of Charles Lamb : he styles it in his " Elia " — " Cheer- 
ful Crown-office Row, place of my kindly engender." Many 
illustrious names cluster about these antique buildings, such as 
Raleigh, Selden, Clarendon, Congreve, Wycherly, Fielding, 
Burke, Johnson, Cowper, Rowe, Beaumont, Ford, and Gold- 
smith, who had chambers here. 

Addison, it will be remembered, lived and died at Holland 
27 



418 THE SHRIXES OF GENIUS. 

House. It was at Holland House, of which he became possessed 
by marriage, that Addison, in the fine couplet of Tickell, 

' ' Taught us how to Kve ; and, oh ! too high 
A price for knowledge, taught us how to die ! " 

Cowley's name is associated with Chertsey and Barn Elms, 
both in the county of Surrey. The house at Chertsey, we be- 
lieve, yet remains, somewhat modernized. Over the door is a 
small tablet of stone on which is inscribed, 

' ' Here the last accents fell from Cowley's tongue. " 

Grub street is replete with literary memories, inelegant as its 
name is ; it is called Milton street, and is in the parish of St. 
Giles, Cripplegate, near Bunhill fields. Many of its old houses 
remain as they were in the time of Charles II. 

In Covent Garden Market is a spot around which genius 
seems to have loved to hover. In Tavistock house, Johnson 
first met his devoted biographer, Boswell ; close by was Will's 
coffee house, at which place Addison and his confreres used to 
meet. Not far off was also Evans's Club and the "Savage 
Club," the frequent rendezvous of the writers and actors of 
their day. 

It is impossible to enumerate even the most noted names, in 
our rapid survey of the shrines of genius ; they are scattered 
all over British soil. There are a few names we have omitted, 
however, which it seems like treason to loyalty to ignore: 
Charles Lamb, who lived sometime and died — not at Enfield, as 
has been supposed by some — but at Edmonton ; his grave is in 
the church-yard of that pleasant retreat. Mrs. Barrett Brown- 
ing, who lived and wrote and died at sunny Florence ; Mrs. 
Hemans, whose grave is in St. Anne's church-yard, Dublin ; 
Dr. Chalmers, whose mortal part sleeps in the cemetery at 
Grange, near Morningside ; and the saintly and eloquent Ed- 



THE SHRINES OF GENIUS. 419 

ward Irving, whose dust rests beneath the crypt of Glasgow 
Cathedral. Also the mighty though mystic Coleridge, who 
lived, died, and was buried at Highgate, near London ; Cowper, 
'' the Christian household poet of England," whose ashes rest at 
East Durham church-yard; Hood, "the prince of punsters," 
and, may we not add, of pathos, whose monument stands in 
Kensall Green Cemetery. 

Among the historic sites of London there are not many which 
<;an lay claim to more venerable associations than the Bunhill- 
fields burial-ground in Finsbury. It was first used for interment 
at the time of the Great Plague, and is the site of the " great 
pit in Finsbury," spoken of in Defoe's narrative. 

Old Bunhill-fields burying-ground is rich in memories of 
eminent men. Among the celebrated graves of this " Campo. 
Santo of the Dissenters," may be mentioned those of De Foe, 
the well-known author of " Robinson Crusoe," John Bunyan, 
Isaac Watts, General Fleetwood, George Fox, the first of the 
Quakers, and Stothard, the great painter. 

Dickens' last residence was Gadshill, Rochester, near London 
Here he died in the midst of his work, and of his days, sud- 
denly, to the great sorrow of a world of readers. This was 
the Gadshill of Shakespeare's time, and here passed Chaucer 
and his pilgrims, and Falstaff and his lawless crew ; and here 
followed the future bard of Avon, shaping the ancient ballad 
of the "Robbery at Gadshill" into one of those "jewels," as 
Tennyson defines them, "which sparkle in the forefinger of 
Time." 

In another direction, amid the luxuriant foliage of Stoke- 
Pogeis, Buckinghamshire, is Gray's church-yard, almost sur- 
rounded with high fir-trees covered with ivy, which impart a 
pleasing gloom in summer to the spot. It is impossible to ap- 
proach it without feeling that it is a spot calculated to have in- 
spired the poet with those feelings which drew from him his 



420 THE SHRINES OF GENIUS. 

beautiful and well-known " Elegy." Here he wrote, here he 
wandered, and here he was buried. But where is his monu- 
ment ? We look for it in vain, either in the church or church- 
yard. There is, indeed, the tomb of "the careful, tender 
mother of many children, one of whom had the misfortune to 
survive her." That child was Thomas Gray, the poet. In 
that simple tomb his ashes repose, with those of the mother he 
so affectionately loved. Our artist has given us a beautiful 
sketch of the scene. 

Ireland claims a passing allusion : if its literary localities are 
less numerous, they are scarcely less interesting. To begin 
with the metropolis : there is Glasnevin, with its recollections 
of Tickell, Parnell, and the rest of that brilliant circle which 
there met ; there is Swift's birthplace in Hoey's Court, and his 
tomb in St. Patrick's ; there is 12 Dorset street, where Sheridan 
first drew his breath, and Aungier street, wliere his biographer, 
Thomas Moore, was born. And how many a one — even the 
admirer of her poetry — passes 20 Dawson street, without think- 
ing of Mrs. Hemans; yet in that house the "falcon-hearted 
dove" folded its wing and fell asleep, and in the vaults of St. 
Anne's Church, hard by, her mortal remains are laid. 

Thomson's natal place was Ednam, near Kelso, Scotland ; 
he removed thence to Southdean, where he is supposed to have 
indited his justly celebrated "Seasons;" afterward he re- 
paired to a house near Richmond. His remains rest in Rich- 
mond Church, where a brass tablet is erected to his memory. 

But in our rapid survey of the shrines of old England we 
had well-nigh forgotten those of our own land. When gliding 
along the placid Hudson, why do we instinctively bend our 
gaze as we near Tarrytown, to a little thickly-embowered 
nook, with its vine-clad cottage nestling in its bosom ? Along 
the grand old wooded and rocky borders of this noble river 
are many more imposing and picturesque vistas and views than 



THE SHRINES OF GENIUS. 421 

this modest ravine presents ; here is a shrine of genius — it is 
Sunnyside, the home of Washington Irving. Grand and spirit- 
stirring as are foreign sites and shrines, there is yet a home- 
interest for us in the spot that our foremost representative in 
American letters has consecrated to memory. "We visit the 
grave of his sleeping dust in the rural cemetery of his legend- 
ary " Sleepy Hollow," to pay the tribute of loving remem- 
brance to his genial and gifted character. Irving is no more 
with us, but he has bequeathed to us a cherished possession, the 
fruits of his exalted genius, and the pleasant memory of his 
exemplary life. 

Stretching up the river a few miles is another memorial 
spot, Willis's "Idlewild," amid whose picturesque ravines 
some of the poetic prose and glowing verse of that well-known 
and elegant wi'iter emanated. His life-tours of Europe were to 
him a kind of perpetual phantasmagoria. 

Every one knows, or is supposed to know, the resting-place 
of the great and good Washington, at Mount Vernon, which is 
indicated by a beautiful marble sarcophagus ; and also that of 
Franklin, with its plain epitaph, at the corner of Fifth and 
Arch streets, Philadelphia. The tomb of Jefferson, at Monti- 
cello, in Virginia, is another shrine of memory for the Ameri- 
can tourist. 

Among memorable sites in New York City we should not 
omit to mention the old Dutch Church, for some years used as 
the New York Post Office. It was in the old wooden steeple 
of this church that Franklin performed his first experiments 
in electricity. Dirty and dingy as it is, who would not look at 
the old belfry with a new interest as the starting-point of that 
luminous train which now encircles the globe, and by which 
we communicate with our antipodes with almost the celerity of 
thought ? We shall never forget the historic memories of old 
Faneuil Hall, Boston ; or Independence Hall, with its daunt 



422 



THE SHRINES OF GENroS. 



less " Declaration of Independence." Memory is busy, also, 
with the locale of Longfellow, at his historic mansion, Cam- 
bridge, Massachusetts; with that of the veteran of the Amei-i- 
can muse, Bryant, at his rustic home, Roslyn, Long Island ; 
and with that of Emerson, at Concord : not to speak of others- 
of like fame in our literary world — Motley, Bancroft, Hildreth ; 
Lossing, in history, and Holmes, Saxe, and Lowell, in song. 
And, lastly, let us not forget those other worthies, now passed 
away — Audubon, Prescott, Paulding, Hawthorne, Everett^ 
Cooper, and Webster, the undesigned prophecy of whose 
words — " I still li ve " — are so applicable to all. 





THE HUMOKS OF LAW. 



Law, legally considered, and in hrief^ is jurisprudence, 
and this again may be distinguished as civil, ecclesiastical, and 
criminal. But there are sundry other kinds of law ; to wit : 
that which pertains to the universe at large, gravitation, and 
the laws of physical, social, and civil life. Law is indeed in- 
dispensable to the well-being of society, since a lawless condi- 
tion is one of anarchy and confusion. "Liberty is born of 
law^^ for " true liberty is the power of doing that which the law 
permits." 

But as there is a comic phase to most things, we find that 
even the stern inflexible, and severe gravity of law is not with- 



424: THE HUMORS OF LAW, 

out its ludicrous aspect. Let us glance at some of its humors 
and absurdities ; careful, meanwhile, that our pleasantries do 
not betray us into a lawsuit for libel or impeachment for con- 
tempt of court ; albeit, neither might be in accordance with 
equity or justice. For much as we are disposed to revere the 
majesty of law, we would keep at a respectful distance from 
its clutches, lest we become unwittingly entangled in its meshes 
and toils. Therefore we must be discreet in handling our sub- 
ject, ior not only are we admonished by an old ditty that law 
is litigation and tergiversation, but mystification and a mon- 
strous delusion ; so that — 

" If fond of pure vexation, Latin, and botheration, 
We're just in a situation 

To enjoy a suit at law." 

Law is law — and, as in such, and so forth, and hereby, and 
aforesaid, provided always, nevertheless, notwithstanding. Law 
is like a blistering plaster — it is a great irritator, and only to be 
used in cases of great extremity. Law, again, is compared to 
a country-dance ; people are led up and down in it until they 
are thoroughly tired. Law is like a book of surgery ; there 
are a great many terrible cases in it. 

Law always expresses itself with true grammatical precision^ 
never confounding moods, tenses, cases, or genders, except, 
indeed, when a woman happens accidentally to be slain, then 
the verdict brought in is manslaughter. The essence of law 
is altercation, for the law can altercate, fulminate, deprecate, 
irritate, and go on at any rate. 

" Law is like longitude, about never completely yet found out; 
Though practised notwithstanding. 

'Tis like the fatalist's strange creed, which justifies a wicked deed, 
■yiTiLLe sternly reprimanding ! " 



THE HUMORS OF LAW. 425 

" Law has been compared to fire ; since those who meddle 
with it generally burn their fingers. Law is like a sieve ; you 
may see through it — but you will be considerably reduced 
before you get through it. It is to the litigant what the poul- 
terer is to the goose — it plucks and it draws him; but here the 
simile ends, for the litigant, unlike the goose, never gets trusty 
although he may be roasted and dishedP 

Human laws are designed mainly to protect absolute rights ; 
the laws, or the lawyers, however, often interfere with what 
seems absolutely right, till there is nothing absolutely left of 
the original right — and absolute wrong is of necessity the con- 
sequence. Those reputed allies — equity and justice — seem, in 
these boasted days of " progress," not only to have repudiated 
their avowed relationship, but even to have wellnigh lost all 
kind of respect for each other. But we must remember that 
Justice is hlind, although she balances the scales. It is with 
law as with physic : so long as diseases and discord disturb the 
social fabric, legal pacification and pills seem to be indispensa- 
ble. We must all have our share of trials in this life ; but trial 
by jury should by all means be avoided. 

An amusing paper on the " Legerdemain of Law-craft," thus 
defines an honest counsel : " He is not double-faced, like 
Janus, to take a retaining fee from plaintiff, and afterward a 
back-handed bribe from the defendant : nor so double-tongued 
that one may purchase his pleading, and the other, at the same 
or a larger price, his silence. . . . He does not play the 
empiric with his client, and put him on the rack to make him 
bleed more freely, casting him into a swoon with frights of a 
judgment, and then reviving him again with a cordial- writ of 
error, or the choice elixir of an injunction." 

The scene presented at a court of justice {i.e. law) is one of 
strange interest. It is there human nature may be studied 
with great effect. The passions of men are not only brought into 



426 THE, HUMORS OF LAW. 

play — they riot in dire confusion. The cupidity and cunning 
of counsel, the qualms and querulousness of the clients, the 
stern immobility of the judge, the officiousness of the crier, and 
the stolid indifference of those ominous individuals who are to 
decide the fate of the contending parties, contrast broadly 
with the vulgar curiosity evinced by the promiscuous crowd. 
A suit at law is, beyond all controversy, a most uncomfortable 
one — it unfits a man for everything else ; it disturbs his peace, 
wastes his money, and too often ruins his reputation. The 
very term, suit at law, is, by the way, a misnomer; for it 
frequently strips a man of all he has, and he seldom gets any 
re-dress. 

The law courts are not unfrequently the scene of severe 
gladiatorial rhetoric between counsel, on the diamond-cut- 
diamond principle. In a London court a counsel for the 
defendant, in an action, after dissecting his antagonist's speech 
and deducing inferences diametrically opposite to him, observ- 
ing him wince under the infliction, cruelly intensified hi& 
discomfiture by adding, "My learned friend on the other 
side shakes his head (emphasizing the word), but I don't know 
that there's much in that ! " 

Counsellor Lamb, an old man when Lord Erskine was at the 
height of his reputation, was a man of timid manners and 
nervous temperament, and usually prefaced his plea with an 
apology to that effect. On one occasion, when opposed to 
Erskine, he happened to remark that he felt himself growing 
more and more timid as he grew older. " No wonder,'^ 
replied the witty but relentless barrister, "every one knows 
that the older a lamh grows the more sheepish he becomes." 

Brow-beating of witnesses is an old standing charge against 
counsel. The poor victim of legal torture is placed on the 
stand, and after having undergone the most exhaustive process 
of pumping, by the one counsel, he is handed over to the cross- 



THE HUMORS OF LAW. 427 

examiner, who ingeniously endeavors to make him contradict 
the testimony he has just given. 

If even law were proved to be a positive good, we have so 
much of it that it has come to be a positive evil. Added to its 
countless statute-books, its codes, civil, common, and canon, we 
have such voluminous commentaries as no mortal man can 
comprehend or even read. This prodigality of law has proved 
the occasion of an equally prolific race of lawyers, scarcely 
any two of whom interpret law alike. 

"We have looked enough at the negative side of law ; but 
where it is made synonymous with equity and justice, it is in- 
vested with the sanctions of Divinity. One of the old divines, 
Hooker, said of law that " her seat is the bosom of God and 
her voice the harmony of the universe." 

The ancients, as a proof of their reverence for law and 
justice, represented their goddess, Themis, as the daughter of 
Heaven and Earth — of Heaven, as typical of her purity and 
holiness — of Earth, as representing her abode and sphere of 
action. To denote her strength she was of Titanic origin ; as 
an appreciation of her consequence she was placed by the side 
of Jupiter. 

Well may we congratulate ourselves when we remember 
that the laws of Draco, the Pandects of Justinian, and the 
Decretals of Gregory are now among the things that were, 
and that we live in an age when men know and realize what 
are their rights and can defend them. 

If any one would like to see the form of a barrister's or 
rather a lawyer's " declaration " in an action, here is one : 

" The pleadings state that John-a-Gull, 
With enA/y, wrath, and malice full, 
With swords, knives, sticks, staves, fist, and bludgeon, 
Beat, bruised, and wounded John-a-Gudgeon ! 
First count's for that with divers jugs, — 
To wit : twelve pots, twelve cups, twelve mugs, 



42H THE HUMORS OF LAW. 

Of certain viilgar drink, called toddy, 

Said Gull did sluice said Gudgeon's body. 

The second count's for other toddy. 

Thrown by said Gull on Gudgeon's body,- 

To wit, his gold-laced hat, and hair on. 

And clothes, which he had then and there on, — 

To wit : twelve jackets, twelve surtouts, 

Twelve pantaloons, twelve pair of boots ; 

Which did thereby much discompose 

Said Gudgeon's mouth, eyes, ears, and nose, 

Back, stomach, neck, thighs, feet, and toes ; 

By which, and other wrongs unheard of, 

His clothes were spoiled, and life despaired of." 

Lord Eldon was renowned for his doubting propensity. 
Many were the squibs, in prose and verse, of which this Fabius 
of Chancellors was the subject. It is stated that during his 
chancellorship, such was his high sense of rectitude, that he is 
said to have retained counsel, in some instances, five, ten, and 
even twenty years (according to the capacity of the purse of the 
parties concerned), rather than venture a rash judgment in some 
equity cases. The longest suit on record, in England, is that of 
the heirs of Sir Thomas Talbot and the heirs of Lord Berkeley, 
respecting some property in the county of Gloucester. It began 
at the close of the reign of Edward IV., and was depending 
until the beginning of that of James L, when it was finally com- 
pounded — being a period of not less than one hundred and 
twenty years ! 

Erskine once met a grandiloquent barrister who delighted in 
flowery language. Perceiving that his ankle was tied up, Er- 
skine asked the cause. " Why, my dear sir," answered the 
wordy lawyer, " I was taking a romantic ramble in my broth- 
er's grounds, when, coming to a gate, I had to climb over it, in 
doing which I came in contact with the uppermost bar and 
have grazed the epidermis of my shin, attended with a slight 
extravasation of blood." " You may thank your stars," replied 



THE HUMORS OF LAW. 429 

Erskine, " that your brother's gate was not as lofty as your style 
or you must have broken your neck." 

Slieridan was one day much annoyed by a fellow-member 
of the House of Commons, who kept crying out every minute? 
'' Hear ! hear ! " In describing a political contemporary that 
wished to play rogue, but had only sense enough to act fool, 
he took occasion to exclaim with great emphasis : " Where, 
where shall we find a more foolish knave or a more knavish 
fool than he ? " " Hear ! hear ! " was shouted by the trouble- 
some member. Sheridan turned round, and thanking him for 
the prompt information, sat down amid a general roar of laugh- 
ter. We meet with punning pleaders and sarcastic counsellors 
in abundance ; so the reader, it is hoped, will relish their jokes 
and repartees " hereinafter following." To refrain from multi- 
plying instances of the ludicrous in law is, indeed, no easy mat- 
ter, since the recollection of the names even of prominent 
members of the Irish bar are so suggestive of fun. Who can 
think of Philpott, Shiel, Curran, and Norbury, without recol- 
lecting their jokes ? 

Curran was engaged in a legal argument ; behind him stood 
his colleague, a gentleman whose person was remarkably tall 
and slender, and who had originally intended to take orders. 
The judge observing that the case under discussion involved a 
question of ecclesiastical law — " Then," said Curran, " I can 
refer your lordship to a high authority behind me, who was 
once intended for the Church, though, in my opinion, he was 
fitter for the steeple." " No man," said a wealthy but weak- 
headed barrister, " should be admitted to the bar who has not 
an independent landed property." " May I ask, sir," said Cur- 
ran, " how many acres make a wise-acre ? " On another occa- 
sion he was asked, " Could you not have known this boy to be 
my son from his resemblance to me?" Curran answered, 
" Yes, sir, the maker's name is stamped upon the blade." Being 



430 \ THE HUMORS OF LAW. 

asked again, "what an Irish gentleman, just arrived in Eng- 
land, could mean by perpetually putting out his tongue ? " he 
answered, " I suppose he's trying to catch the English accent." 

Plunkett, while pleading one day, observing the hour to be 
late, said it was his wish to proceed with the trial if the jury 
would set. " Sit, sir," said the judge, correcting him, " not set ; 
hens set." " I thank you, my lord," was the reply. Shortly 
after the judge had occasion to observe, " that if such were the 
case, he feared the action would not lay" " Zie, my lord," 
said the barrister, " not lay ; hens lay." 

A British lawj^er was engaged some time since to defend a 
man who had been charged with theft. Assuming the prerog- 
ative of his position, the counsel, in a private interview with his 
client, said to him, " Now, Patrick, as I am to defend you I 
want you to tell me frankly whetlier you are guilty or not. 
Did you steal the goods ? " " Faith, then," said Pat, " I s'pose 
T must tell yez. In troth, I did stale 'em ! " " Then you ought 
to be ashamed of yourself to come here and disgrace your 
country by stealing ? " said the honest counsel. " In troth, sir, 
maybe I ought ; but, then, if I didn't stale, you wouldn't have 
the honor and credit of getting me off ! " 

It may be remembered, a curious instance occurred of a wit- 
ness confounding a counsel, at Gloucester, England, some years 
ago. The witness, on being asked his name, gave it Ottiwell 
"Woodd. He pronounced it hurriedly several times, as the 
learned counsel did not seem to catch it. " Spell it, sir, if 
you please," he said, somewhat angrily ; the witness complied 
thus : " O, tt, i, w, e, 11, W, oo, dd." The spelling more con- 
founded the counsel than ever, and in his confusion, amid the 
riotous laughter of the court, he took the witness aside to help 
him to spell it after him. 

O'Connell was once examining a witness, whose inebriety, at 
the time to which the evidence referred, it was essential to his 



THE HUMORS OF LAW. 431 

client's case to prove. lie quickly discovered the man's char- 
acter. He was a fellow who may be described as "half -foolish 
with roguery." " Well, Darby, you told the truth to this gen- 
tleman ? " " Yes, your honor. Counsellor O'Connell." " How 
do you know my name ? " " Ah ! sure every one knows our 
own jpathriotP " Well, you are a good-humored, honest fel- 
low ; now tell me. Darby, did you take a drop of anything that 
day ? " " Why, your honor, I took my share of a pint of 
spirits." " Your share of it ; now, by virtue of your oath, was 
not your share of it all hut the pewter? " "Why, then, dear 
knows, that's true for you, sir." The court was convulsed at 
both question and answer. 

Here is an instance of his ready tact and infinite resource in 
the defence of his client. In a trial at Cork for murder the 
principal witness swore strongly against the prisoner. He 
particularly swore that a hat, found near the place of the mur- 
der, belonged to the prisoner, whose name was James. " By 
virtue of your oath, are you sure that this is the same hat ? " 
" Yes." " Did you examine it carefully before you swore, in 
your information, that it was the prisoner's ? " "I did." " Now 
let me see," said O'Connell, as he took up the hat and began 
to examine it carefully in the inside. He then spelled aloud 
the name of James, slowly, and repeated the question as to 
whether the hat contained the name; when the respondent 
promptly replied, " It did." " Now, my lord," said O'Connell, 
holding up the hat to the bench, " there is an end of the case 
— there is no name whatever inscribed in the hat." The result 
was, of course, acquittal. 

The following anecdote of two eminent pleaders, Pinckney 
and Emmet, we copy from the Knickerhocker : it is an admir- 
able rebuke upon those who suppose that irony, sarcasm, and 
invective constitute the essentials of forensic eloquence. 

"We do not know when we have encountered a more forci 



432 THE HUMORS OF LAW. 

ble exemplification of the truth, 'that a soft answer turneth 
away wrath,' than is afforded in the ensuing anecdote : On 
one occasion in the Supreme Court of the United States, the 
eloquent Irish exile, Emmet, and the distinguished orator, 
Pinckney, were on opposite sides in an important cause, and 
one which the latter had much at heart. In the course of the 
argument he made some offensive personal observations on 
Emmet, with a view of irritating him and weakening his reply. 
Emmet sat quiet and endured it all. It seemed to have sharp- 
ened his intellect without having irritated his temper. When 
the argument was finished, he said : ' Perhaps he ought to 
notice the remarks of the opposite counsel, but this was a 
species of warfare in which he had the good fortune to have 
little experience and one in which he never dealt — he was 
willing that his learned opponent should have all the advan- 
tages he promised himself from the display of his talents in 
that way. When he came to this country he was a stranger, 
and was happy to say that from the bar generally and the 
court universally he had experienced nothing but politeness 
and even kindness. He believed the court would do him the 
justice to say that he had said or done nothing in this cause to 
merit a different treatment. He had always been accustomed 
to admire and even reverence the learning and eloquence of 
Mr. Pinckney, and he was the last man from whom he should 
have expected personal observations of the sort the court had 
just witnessed. He had been in early life taught by the high- 
est authority not to return railing for railing. He would only 
say that he had been informed that the learned gentleman had 
filled the highest ofiice his covmtry could bestow at the court 
of St. James. He was very sure that he had not learned his 
breeding in that school.' 

" The court and the bar were delighted ; for Mr. Pinckney 
was apt to be occasionally a little too overbearing. When we 



THE HUMORS OF LAW. 433 

take into consideration the merit of resistance against the 
natural impulse of a warm Irish temperament, we must admire 
still more the manner adopted by Mr, Emmet. Mr. Pinckney 
afterward tendered the most ample apology. ' The manner/ 
said he, ' in which Mr. Emmet has replied, reproaches me by 
its forbearance and urbanity, and could not fail to hasten the 
repentance which reflection alone would have produced, and 
which 1 am glad to have so public an occasion of avowing, I 
offer him a gratuitous and cheerful atonement : cheerful 
because it puts me to rights with myself, and because it is 
tendered not to ignorance and presumption, but to the highest 
worth, intellect, and morals, enhanced by such eloquence as 
few may hope to equal ; to an interesting stranger whom ad- 
versity has tried, and affliction struck severely to the heart ; to 
an exile whom any country might be proud to receive and 
every man of a generous temper would be ashamed to offend.' " 

Special pleaders sometimes resort to curious expedients for 
producing an effect on the sympathies of the jury — a body of 
men distinguished alike for their acute sensibilities and criti- 
cal sagacity. In a criminal case, in which the culprit was 
arraigned upon a charge of manslaughter, which seemed to 
bear very much against the prisoner, the counsel held up his 
little child, who was crying aloud, as an eloquent appeal to the 
jury in his behalf. This might have answered very well had 
not one of their number put the pertinent question to the 
youngster, " "What are you crying for ? " when the artless reply 
was, " He pinched me, sir." 

As no one denies that the bar has been ever distinguished 
for eloquence, it is not needful for us to cite a list of luminous 
names to prove the fact. Rather would we present the follow- 
ing curious case of an attorney, who was possessed of a won- 
derful facility in " facing both ways." A Scottish advocate, 
we have forgotten his name, having on a certain occasion drank 
28 



434 THE HUMORS OF LAW. 

rather too freely, was called on unexpectedly to plead in a 
cause in which he had been retained. The lawyer mistook the 
party for whom he was engaged, and to the great amazement 
of the agent who had feed him, and to the absolute horror of 
the poor client, who was in court, he delivered a long and fer- 
vent speech directly opposite to the interests he had been 
called upon to defend. Such was his zeal that no whispered 
remonstrance, no jostling of the elbow, could stop him. But 
just as he was about to sit down the trembling client, in a brief 
note, informed him that he had been pleading for the wrong 
party. This intimation, which would have disconcerted most 
men, had a very different effect on the advocate, who, with an 
air of infinite composure, resumed his oration. " Such, my 
lords," said he, " is the statement which you will probably hear 
from my learned brother on the opposite side in this cause. I 
shall now, therefore, beg leave, in a few words, to show your 
lordships how utterly untenable are the principles and how dis- 
torted are the facts upon which this very specious statement 
has proceeded." The learned gentleman then went over the 
whole ground, and did not take his seat until he had completely 
and energetically refuted the whole of his former j)leading. 

We pause not to notice any of the peculiarities of pleading, 
in connection with briefs — those legal documentary instru- 
ments, usually more remarkable for their expansion and^verbos- 
xty than anything else. In early times pleading was carried 
on without the aid of briefs. 

Sterne insinuates that attorneys are to lawyers what apothe- 
caries are to physicians — only that they do not deal in scruples! 
Attorneys and lawyers in our courts are convertible terms. 

Having referred to briefs, we are reminded of the opposite. 

We have not dilated upon " the law's delay." The topic is, 
however, too trite to talk about — let an instance suffice. 

The fault, in some instances, rests more with the client than 



THE HUMORS OF LAW. ,435 

the counsel : the judicial reports exhibit many such absurdi- 
ties. In the Chancery Court of England, the case of ISTarty 
vs. Duncan occurred, in which suit actually two thousaTid 
pounds sterling were expended in determining which party 
was liable to paint a board and whitewash a sign ! 

"We have at our hand a case, and as it is a very striking one, 
we may as well introduce it with the view of adding force to 
our observations. 

A lawyer, retained in a case of assault and battery, was 
cross-examining a witness in relation to the force of a blow 
struck : " Wliat kind of a blow was given ? " "A blow of 
the common kind." " Describe the blow." " I am not good 
at description." " Show me what kind of a blow it was." " I 
cannot." " You must." " I wont." The lawyer appealed to 
the court. The court told the witness that if the counsel in- 
sisted upon his showing what kind of a blow it was, he must 
do so. " Do you insist upon it % " asked the witness. " I do." 
" Well, then, since you compel me to show you, it was this 
kind of a blow ! " at the same time suiting the action to the 
word, and knocking over the astonished disciple of Coke upon 
Littleton. Is this authentic, say you ? Deponent saith not. 

In this connection we have yet another case to present, in 
which the irritating and too irritable counsel was completely 
nonplussed. It is as follows : 

" 1 call upon you," said the counsellor, " to state distinctly 
upon what authority you are prepared to swear to the mare's 
age." " Upon what authority ? " said the ostler, interroga- 
tively. " You are to reply to, and not to repeat the questions 
put to you." " I doesn't consider a man's bound to answer a 
question afore he's time to turn it in his mind." " Nothing 
can be more simple, sir, than the question put. I again repeat 
it : ' Upon what authority do you swear to the animal's age ? ' " 
" The- best authority," responded the witness, gruffly. " Then 



436 THE HUMOKS OF LAW. 

why such evasion ? Why not state it at once ? " " Well, then? 
if you must have it." " Must ! I will have it," vociferated the 
counsellor, interrupting the witness. " Well, then, if you must 
and will have it," rejoined the ostler, with imperturbable grav- 
ity, " why, then, I had it myself from the mare's own mouth." 
A simultaneous burst of laughter rang through the court. 

We do not intend to reproduce any of the instances of matri- 
monial infelicity, that, alas, too frequently occur, and are re- 
ported by the periodical press with such heightened effect. 
We have, however, at hand a case of desertion by a faithless 
swain, bearing the suspicious name of Bachelor, for breach of 
promise of marriage. A number of the defendant's love-letters 
were produced, in which the fluctuations of his love were very 
amusingly exhibited. His first epistles terminated with, 
" Yours, J. B. ; " then fired up to " My ever dearest Maria ; " 
afterward they softened into " My Darling ; " then cooled into 
" Dear Maria ; " then formalized into " Dear Miss Rogers ; " 
and broke off with the " following announcement : " You wish 
to know how I intend to settle ; all I can say is that I cannot 
be more settled than I am." 

The following bit of the humorous once occurred in a Dub- 
lin court. Judge : " Pray, my good man, what passed between 
you and the prisoner ? state it to the court." " Och, thin, plase 
yer worship," says Pat, " sure I sees Phelan on tlie top of a 
wall. ' Paddy,' says he ; ' what ? ' says I ; ' here,' says he ; 
' where,' says I ; ' whist ! ' says he ; ' hush,' says I : and 
that is all I know about it, plase yer worship." After this 
lucid testimony Pat was dismissed without further questioning. 

Sometimes a simple rustic proves more than a match for the 
tactics of learned counsel. Some years ago, at the Lincoln 
Assizes, the temper of the examining counsel was somewhat 
tried by a certain timid witness whose testimony'could scarcel}' 
be heard. After this there appeared upon the stand one who 



THE HUMORS OF LAW. 437 

seemed to be "simplicity personified. "Kow, sir," said the 
learned representative of law, in a loud voice, " I hope we shall 
have no difficulty in making you speak up." " I hope not, sir," 
was shouted, or rather bellowed out by the witness, that startled 
the whole court out of its propriety. " How dare you speak in 
that way, sir," said the counsel. " Please, zur, I cannot speak 
any louder, zur," replied the astonished witness, attempting to 
shout even louder than before. " Pray, have you been drink- 
ing this morning ? " screamed out the man of law, quite losing 
his self-control. " Yes, zur," was the reply. " And what have 
yon been drinking ? " " Coffee, zur." " And what did you 
have in your coffee, sir ? " shouted the exasperated lawyer. 
"A spoon, zur," was the answer, amid the roars of the 
whole court. 

A member of the New York Bar was once asked by a man 
in the street, whether a five-dollar bill which he showed to him 
was a good one. " Yes," was the reply, putting the bank-note 
into his pocket. The interrogator thanked him, and asked him 
to return the note. All he got was, " I never give an opinion 
under five dollars." 

Names are sometimes significant, professionally, as in 
the instance of the well-known legal firm, in New York — 
Ketchum and Cheatham. As the combination was found to be 
provocative of risible curiosity the firm changed it so as to 
read thus : " I. Ketchum and U. Cheatham ! " (their Christian 
names being respectively Isaac and Uriah.) 

A certain judicial functionary on the confines of our western 
clearings once confessed, in the simplicity of his heart, that he 
could decide well enough upon a case when he heard one side, 
but it bothered him to listen to both. That seems to have been 
the case with that renowned doubter. Chancellor Eldon ; so 
we need not wonder that a lesser luminary should be lost in the 
fog. 



438 THE HUMORS OF LAW. 

In a county town of Georgia a man named Knott was tried 
and his case was indeed a knotty one, for the judge even was 
unable to decide upon the verdict rendered, whether to pro- 
nounce sentence or not. The Jury found "the prisoner, 
Knott, guilty ! " 

Judge Story and Edward Everett once met at a public din- 
ner in Boston, when the first-named offered as a toast the fol- 
lowing: "Fame follows merit where Everett goes." The 
retort courteous was no less felicitdus : " To whatever height 
judicial learning may attain in this country, there will be al- 
ways one Story higher." This reminds us of a similar in- 
stance, when Prof. Longfellow met Mr. Longworth ; and on the 
host introducing them to each other, the professor remarked 
that their names bore some resemblance, but were suggestive of 
the old maxim, that " worth makes the man, the want of it, 
the fellow." 

Judge Peters, of Philadelphia, on one occasion referring to 
a witness, said he had a vegetable head. " How so," was the 
inquiry. " He has carroty hair, reddish cheeks, a turnujp nose, 
and a sage look," was the reply. 

The same facetious functionary asked his friend Condy for a 
book. The latter replied, " With pleasure ; I will send it to 
you." " That," said he, " will be truly condescending'''' (Condy- 
sending). 

On another occasion a counsel so tormented a witness by 
cross-examination that he called for water; the judge exclaimed, 
" I thought you would pump him dry." 

Sir Boyle Roche has been made responsible for several irre- 
sistible jokes. For instance ; he it was who first gave utterance 
to that sagacious aphorism, " Single misfortunes never come 
alone ; and the greatest of all is generally followed by a much 
greater." He ordered his shoemaker on one occasion to make 
one boot larger than the other to suit his gouty foot. They 



THE HUMORS OF LAW. 439 

were brought home to him, and as he was trying them on he 
exclaimed, " I told you to make one larger than the other, and 
you have done exactly the reverse, for you have made one 
smaller than the other." During the troublous times in which 
he lived property and life were deemed insecure. He wrote 
once to a friend : " You may judge of our state when I tell you 
that I write this with a pistol in each hand and a sword in 
the other ! " 

He it was who, in the exuberance of his loyalty, described 
that remarkable performance in gymnastics, when he declared 
that he " stood prostrate at the feet of his sovereign ! " It was 
he who first suggested that " we should not put ourselves out 
of the way to do anything for posterity, for what has posterity 
done for us ? " " And by posterity," he continued, " I do not 
mean our ancestors, but those who are to come immediately 
after them ! " 

At a trial in the Court of King's Bench, in 1833, between 
certain music publishers as to an alleged piracy of an arrange- 
ment of the song of The Old English Gentleman^ Cooke, the 
actor, was subpoenaed as a witness by one of the parties. On his 
cross-examination, by Sir James Scarlett, afterward Lord Abin- 
ger, for the opposite side, that learned counsel questioned him 
thus : " Kow, sir, you say that the two melodies are the same, but 
different ; now what do you mean by that, sir ? " To this Tom 
promptly answered : " I said that the notes in the two copies 
were alike, but with a different accent, the one being in com- 
mon time, the other in six-eight time ; and consequently, the 
position of the accented notes was different." " Now, pray sir, 
don't beat about the bush, but explain to the jury, who are 
supposed to know nothing about music, the meaning of what 
you call accent." Cooke : " Accent in music is a certain stress 
laid upon a particular note, in the same manner as you would 
lay a stress upon any given word for the purpose of being bettei 



uo 



THE HUMORS OF LAW. 



understood. Thus, if I were to say ' you are an ass,'' it rests 
on ass ; but if I were to say, ^Yoic are an ass,' it rests on you, 
Sir James." Shouts of laughter by the whole court followed 
this repartee. Silence at length having been obtained, the 
judge, with much seeming gravity, accosted the counsel thus : 
" Are you satisfied. Sir James ? " Sir James (who had become 
scarlet in more than name), in a great huff, said, " The witness 
may go down." 

After all we have to urge against the law, we beg to ac- 
knowledge allegiance to its high authority ; and, as to its ad- 
ministrators, let the words of an old epigram speak for us : 

" When we've nothing to dread from the law's sternest frowns, 
We all laugh at the barristers' wigs, bags, and gowns ; 
But as soon as we want them to sue or defend, 
Then their laughter begins, and our mirth's at an end." 





FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS 



" The bright mosaics, that with storied beauty 
The floor of nature's temple tesselate." — Horace Smith. 

" A PASSION for flowers," wrote Mrs. Hemaus, " is, i really 
think, the only one which long sickness leaves untouched witli 
its chilling influence. Often, during a weary illness, have I 
looked upon new books with perfect apathy, when, if a friend 
has sent me a few flowers, my heart has leapt up to their dreamy 
hues and odors, with a sudden sense of renovated childhood — 
which seems to me one of the mysteries of our being." To a 
cultivated taste, indeed, flowers ever present the rarest attrac- 
tions, and the most fascinating charms. Many-tinted and 
many-voiced, they are associated with all that we share in the 



442 FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWEES. 

poetry and romance of life : — they deck, alike, the sunny, joy 
ous hours of youth, the Eden bliss of the bridal, and the saintly 
associations of the burial. To these, and all life's minor scenes, 
they impart a glory and a splendor unapproachable by all the 
appliances of art. 

" Barren, indeed, were this world of ours 
Denied the sweet smile of the beautiful flowers," — 

since they not only adorn and enrich the various phases of 
our earthly life with their myriad forms of beauty, but they 
perfume the very atmosphere of our being with their fragrant 
breath, and when a-weary, gladden the heart that is open ta 
their appeal. 

"Not a tree, 
A plant, a leaf, a blossom but contains 
A f oUo volume. . We may read, and read. 
And read again, and stiU find something new, 
Something to please, and something to instruct, 
E'en in the noisome weed." 

Poets and painters have ever delighted to portray the 
charms of nature, under whatever phase or aspect she presents 
them ; as much when decked in the silvery sheen of winter, as 
when arrayed in the prismatic hues of the vernal spring — when 
the meadows are gemmed with buttercups and daisies, and the 
glorious trees of the forest are bursting into new life and leafy 
beauty. With one exception — that of love — no subject has, to 
a like extent, challenged the rich and quaint device of the 
votaries of the muse. How pleasant an hour might we while 
away by citations of the pleasurable passages of the poets, who 
have luxuriated over the treasures of Flora ! 

Leigh Hunt thus delicately makes vocal the fairy tribes: 



* FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS. 443 

" We are tlie sweet flowers, bom of sunny showers ; 
Think (whene'er you see us, what our beauty saith) — 
Utterance mute and bright of some unknown delight. 
We fill the air with pleasure, by our simple breath ; 
All who sec us, love us ; we befit all places ; 
Unto sorrow we give smiles, — and unto graces, gfraces ! " 

The silent, yet persuasive appeals of the radiant and per- 
fumed flowers were lovingly heeded by the bards of old, who 
tuned their lyre to the sweetest melody whenever they sang, 
their praises ; Chaucer, Spenser, and their illustrious successors 
in the priesthood of song, down to the pastoral poet, Wordsworth, 
have derived no little of their inspiration therefrom. It was 
that bard of Kydal lake that confessed they stirred within him 
" thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." 

Listen to his chant, — how daintily he syllables their names : 

" Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies ; 
Let them live upon their praises ; 
Long as there 's a sun that sets 
Primroses will have their glory ; 
Long as there are violets, 
They will have a place in story." 

Flowers have not only a symbolical language and literature, 
they also indicate, as in an illuminated calendar, the procession 
of the months and the changes of the seasons. The woods 
and fields, the meadows and the water-courses, and the rocks 
and hills, are alike bedecked and beautified with these floral 
gems. 

They are the gorgeous illuminations of the book of nature, 
and the interpreters of her mysteries. A few there are, even 
in this prosaic age, who, with Leigh Hunt, confessed to a faith 
in the fairy lore of the sweet flowers ; and who among the 
mists of the moonlit dell, or by the margin of some sylvan 



444 FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS. 

stream, see sylphs and genii nestling amidst the modest flowers 
Did our great dramatist dream, when he sang : 

" I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, 
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows ; 
Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine, 
With sweet musk roses and with eglantine ; 
There sleeps Titania, sometime of the night 
Lulled in these flowers with dances and deUght ! " 

But leaving the elfin tribe, let us bend our gaze upon the 
fairy flowers themselves, awhile. Their very name is suggestive 
of all that is fresh and fragrant in nature. The gems that 
sparkle in her diadem — the rich embroidery and glittering 
adornments of her gayest and her simplest robes — the pearls, 
the rubies, the diamonds, the sapphires, the gorgeous jewels 
that enrich and beautify creation — are they not the sweet 
flowers ? Who loves not flowers ? The highest and the lowli- 
est, the rich and the humble, those who are gifted with high 
intellect, and those of limited capacity — all unite in this one 
sweet sense of the beautiful. It is a sad house, that has no 
flowers in it ; a hard and harsh soul who can let the glorious 
summer-time glide away, and find no pleasure in looking upon 
these choicest gifts of nature. A poetic fancy will indulge a 
sweet colloquy with these beautiful " terrestrial stars." 

The flowers are, indeed, holy things, their teachings are re- 
plete with sagacious suggestions, 

" And he is happiest who hath power 
To gather wisdom from a flower. 
And wake his heart, in every hour. 

To pleasant gratitude." 

Horace Smith, in his beautiful Plymn, thus apostrophizes 
them : 



FACTS AJSTD FANCIES ABOUT FLOW^EKS. 445 

' ' Your voiceless lips, O flowers ! are living preachers, 
Each cup a pulpit, every leaf a book. 
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers 

From loneliest nook. 

" Were I in churchless solitudes remaining, 
Far from all voice of teachers or divines, — 
My soul would find in flowers of God's ordaining — 

Priests, Sermons, Shrines ! " 

Floral language is a beautiful system of symbolism — a bril- 
liant code of hieroglyphics ; and to those who can scan their 
mystic meaning, how eloquently they speak ! Many there are, 
however, whose ears are not attent, and whose souls are not 
attuned to the soft music of their speech. To such an one : 

' ' The primrose by the water's brim 
A yellow primrose is to him, 
And it is nothing more ! " 

" There are two books," says Sir Thomas Browne, " from 
whence I collect my divinity ; besides that written one of God, 
another of His servant, nature, that universal and public manu- 
script that lies expanded unto the eyes of all. Surely the 
heathens knew better how to join and read these mystical 
letters, than we Christians, who cast a more careless eye on 
these common hieroglyphics, and disdain to suck divinity from 
the flowers of nature." 

" Te poetry of woods ! romance of fields ! 

Nature's imagination bodied bright ! 
Earth's floral page, that high instruction yields ! — 

For not, oh, not alone to charm our sight. 

Gave God your blooming forms, your leaves of light. 
Ye speak a language which loe yet may learn — 

A divination of mysterious might ! 
And glorious thoughts may angel-eyes discern 
Flower-writ in mead and vale, where'er man's footsteps turn." 



446 FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWEES. 

With what a rich profusion of variegated and glowing beauty 
has the beneficent Creator bedecked forest, field, and meadow ! 
Not only is this prodigal display of floral gems to be seen gar- 
nishing the cultivated garden and the gay parterre ; but even 
the wayside, the wild heath, and the rugged mountain-side are 
alike glorified with the presence of the beautiful buds and 
blossoms. 

"Everywhere about us are they glowing — 

Some, like stars, to tell us spring is bom ; 
Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowiug, 

Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn. 
Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, 

And in Summer's green emblazoned fields, 
But ia arms of brave old Autumn's wearing, 

In the centre of his brazen shield ; 
Not alone in her vast dome of glory, 

Not on graves of bird and beast alone. 
But iu old cathedrals high and hoary, 

On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone ; 
In the cottage bf the rudest peasant ; 

In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers. 
Speaking of the Past unto the Present, 

Tell us of the ancient Games of flowers." * 

Flowers are, indeed, meet objects of our reverence as well as 
admiration ; for are they not the wondrous manifestations of 
the infinite wisdom and power, as well as beneficence, of the 
Creator ; and what a lesson of the " Fatherhood of God " did 
He " who spake as never man spake " open unto us from the 
pale petals of the Lily. How many glowing floral allegories 
from the book of Nature have been embalmed in the book of 
Grace. 

How dormant and obtuse must that mind be, that fails to 
derive a feeling of elevating and refined delight from the con- 
templation of these pearly gems, that grace the bosom of our 
Mother Earth — the jewelry with which Heaven has so richly 

* Longfellow. 



FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS. 447 

adorned her ! Yet too many there are, " in the close city 
pent," for whom these gay and brilliant things possess nc 
charms ; they prefer the sordid pursuit of gold, to the soul- 
elevating study of Nature in all her enamelled beauty; yet 
what can be more deliciously refreshing to the vision than to 
gaze upon her ever-vaiying charms ? 

Woman, from her iiner sensibilities and keener appreciation 
of the beautiful, possesses an innate passion for buds and blos- 
soms, and these emblems of innocence, grace, and beauty natu- 
rally enlist her sympathies. She is indeed, herself, the queenly 
blossom of Paradise, and her peerless charms find their nearest 
emblems in the blushing tints, the nectar sweets, and glowing 
beauties of Flora. Hence the fitting grace with which she 
prefers to cull from the leafy temple of the goddess, the rarest 
gems to heighten her fascinations, rather than costly pearls or 
the dazzling decorations of art. 

Flowers, it will be recollected, are used for national emblems : 
thus, that of England is the rose, the queen of flowers ; France 
has adopted the iris ; Ireland, the shamrock ; and Scotland, the 
thistle. 

The imitative art has ever been devoted to the arrangement 
and combination of these cherished objects. The designs that 
flowers have afforded to painting, sculpture, and architecture 
also furnish a fruitful theme. 

In the distribution of honors and badges of distinction, 
Nature is generally appealed to ; poets were crowned with 
bays, and conquerors with laurel ; and of the several heraldic 
decorations, many of the emblems are derived from Flora. 
On the triumphant return of a victorious hero, garlands of gay 
flowers are wreathed and dispensed by fair hands. There are 
certain rural festivals of ancient origin, a few of which are still 
extant in some parts of Europe, at which the resources of Flora 



4A8 FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS. 

are called into requisition ; such as that of the May Queen, the 
festival of the Rose, Harvest Home, etc. 

Augustine once said, " When no one asks me what is Time, 
I know it very well ; but I do not know it when I am asked." 
" One might say as much of a Flower — of its beauty, at least, 
which is the prey of Time," — was the remark of Rousseau. 

We do not, of course, refer to its botanical definition, but 
its poetical — for is not the poetry of the plant its highest trans- 
formation of beauty ? 

" The flowers all tell to thee a sacred, mystic story, 

How moistened earthy dust can wear celestial glory ! 

On thousand stems is found the love-inscription graven, 

How beautiful is earth when it can image heaven." * 

To be a lover of flowers, it is not indispensable that one 
should be a floriculturist, or a botanist, but it is necessary to 
have a soul for the beautiful. 

Flowers are always oh the sunny side of things ; and we, too, 
should certainly keep there as much as we possibly can. 

" Happy are they," said Gray, " who can create a rose-tree, 
or erect a honeysuckle." "Who can fail to respond to the senti- 
ment? Linnaeus constructed a dial of flowers, indicative of 
their times of expanding and closing, by planting them in such 
a manner as that at each succeeding hour a blossom should 
unfold. 

As the thrice-welcome harbinger of spring, the Snowdrop 
first claims our notice. Look at its pleasing contrast of white 
and green, symbolizing, at once, the livery of winter and of 
spring ; suggestive, too, of death and the resurrection. The 
pale, gentle snowdrop teaches us all the sweet lesson of trust 
and patience, when memory is picturing the cherished past; 
hope, by its floral emblem, is thus pointing us onward to the 

* Riikert. 



FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS. 449 

glorified future. Among the first-born flowers of spring, also, 
is the Daisy (day's eye) ; it is the poets' favorite ; from Chaucer 
to Burns and Wordsworth have its praises been chanted. 

It is supposed to have been so called from the nature of its 
blossom, which expands at the dawn of day and closes at sun- 
set. 

A poetical superstition is attached to this flower, which is 
found to grace both mountain and meadow, and which Words- 
worth designates " the Pearl of Spring," which makes it a test 
of friendship. It is a custom with simple-hearted rustics, 
when they wish to ascertain whether a professed attachment is 
sincere, for the trysting parties to pull off, one by one, the white 
rays of the flowers, saying alternately, " Does he love me ? " 
" Does he not? " until they stripped off all the rays of the daisy. 
If the first appeal happens to occur at the last ray, the conclu- 
sion is believed to be auspicious. 

The contemplation of flowers is a theme rife with interest to 
all classes : the child, fascinated by their exceeding beauty, is 
delighted to gather them into a bright bouquet ; the fair 
maiden seeks to employ the expressive symbols to reveal the 
gentle emotions of her heart ; while the lover of nature luxuri- 
ates over their variegated cliarms, or scans with inquisitive gaze 
their manifold mysteries. 

" In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, 

And tell in a garland their loves and cares : 
Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers, 
. On its leaves a mystic language bears." 

Well might Izaak Walton exclaim, as he reclined on a prim- 
rose bank, and bent his enraptured eye upon the enamelled 
meadow before him, "I regard them as Charles, the Emperor 
did Florence : that they are too pleasant to be looked upon 
except on holidays." 
29 



450 FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS. 

With the Primrose we are apt instinctively to associate 
rural sights and sounds ; it is so suggestive of a thatched cottage 
in a woody dell, a rippling stream, and the rustic accessories 
of peaceful pastoral life. The " meek and soft-eyed Primrose " 
is, in the vocabulary of Flora, expressive of youthful bloom. 

The generic name of this flower is derived from primus, 
it being one of the firstlings of the spring. 

Let us now cull a bunch of fresh violets, and take a glance 
at their wondrous beauty. Yiolets are among the sweetest 
flowers that deck the woods. * 

These exquisite little woodland fairies have inspired many 
poetic pens, and many have sung their modest charms in 
melodious numbers. Not to speak of their exquisite aroma, it 
is impossible to look into their deep cups vrithout being struck 
with their rare beauty. And we no sooner become impressed 
with this feeling, than we begin to recollect what Shakspeare 
has said about them — what beautiful and passionate pictures 
they have formed, and what lovable spots they nestle in, in 
the realm of song. 

That theYiolet was a favorite with Shakespeare, is evident by 
the beautiful simile he makes Perdita deliver in the Winter'' s 
Tale : 

" Violets dim, 
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, 
Or Cytherea's breath." 

And Milton makes echo to dwell amongst Yiolets : 

" Sweet echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen] 
By slow Meander's margent green, 
And in the violet-embroidered vale." 

Then we have to notice the Pansy (from Pensee, thought) : 

" Styled by sportive fancy's better choice 
A Thxmglitr—the Heart's Ease — or Forget-me-not, 
Decking alike the peasant's garden plot, 
And castle's proud parterre." 



FACTS AKD FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS. 451 

The tints of this variable flower are even more numerous 
than the names that have been bestowed upon it ; and these 
are some half a dozen more than we have given above. 

The Wallflower^ in floral language, is the emblem of fidelity 
in misfortune, fi-om the fact that it is found attached to walls 
and ruins. There is another little favorite flower of Shake- 
speare, which he so daintily introduces in one of Ariel's songs 
of the Tempest : 

" Where the bee sucks, there lurk I ; 

In a cowslip's bell I lie ; 
, There I couch -when owla do cry." 

The Narcissus is the generic name of a beautiful family 
of bulbs so celebrated by the ancient poets under that name ; 
but the moderns have, with Herrick at their head, chosen to 
fiing their praises under the name — Daffodil. Here we have 
his beautiful lines : 

" Fair Daffodils, we weep to see you haste away so soon; 
As yet the early-rising sun has not attained his noon : 
Stay, stay, until the hastening day 

Has run but to the even-song ; 
And, having prayed together, we 
Will go with you along." 

Another species of this group, distinguished by its rush- 
like foliage, is known as the Jonquil / this is the most fragrant 
of all the varieties of the genus. The haunts of these flowers 
are the shady banks of rivulets and streams ; hence their my- 
thological name. 

The Hyacinth has also been ever a pet flower with the poets, 
from Homer down to our own times. Crowns of Hyacinth were 
worn by the young Greek Yirgins who assisted at the nuptial 
ceremony. One of the varieties of this flower is called the 
Blue-bell, from the bell-shape and color of its blossoms. 



452 FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS. 

Then there are those queenly spring blossoms, the sweet- 
scented Anemone / and " the pearl-like buds " of the odorous 
May, or Hawthorn, symbolical of conjugal love. 

The Tulip, with its numerous varieties of color, has been^ 
fi'om time immemorial, in the East, the token-flower indicative 
of a declaration of love. The Lily has seemed to acquire some- 
what " an odor of sanctity " from the fact that our Lord made 
it the occasion of his beautiful appeal to our trust and faith 
in the divine Providence. Keats thus refers to this delicate 
flower : 

" No flower amid the garden fairer grows, 
Than the sweet Lily of the lowly vale, 
The queen of flowers ! " 

How gracefully its perfumed bells are suspended on the 
stem, and how glowing the contrast of its snowy corollas with 
its bright green leaves! The Fleur-de-lis (a contraction of 
Fleur de Louis) has no afiinity with the Lily, but is known as 
the Iris y it has long been emblematically used in France as 
part of the national arms. 

But we have not alluded to the grand array of Pinks, Car- 
nations, and Gillyflowers, the full-blown beauties of the sum- 
mer months. These gay flowers are almost as great favorites 
as the Hose. The prismatic Larhsjpur claims also a place 
among the most brilliant favorites of Flora. The Dahlia, sa 
named after the Swedish botanist, DaJil, is a native of tlie 
marshes of Peru ; the number of its known varieties is, we be- 
lieve, over five hundred. But it is time we did homage to that 
most regal of flowers — the queenly Bose — 

" The sweetest flower 

That ever drank the amber shower." 

The Rose of Sharon, one of the most exquisite of flowers in 



FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS. 453 

shape and hue, has not only a Bibh'cal association, but it is re- 
garded by the Orientals as a symbol of the resurrection, from 
the fact that when the blossom dies, it is carried by the wind 
elsewhere, and again takes root, and blossoms. 

The origin of the rose's hue has been made the subject of a 
beautiful legend by Carey, thus : 

" As erst, in Eden's blissful bowers, 
Young Eve surveyed her countless flowers, 
An opening rose of purest white 
She marked, with eye that beamed delight ; 
Its leaves she kissed, and straight it drew 
From Beauty's lip the vermeil hue ! " 

The rose is replete with legendary lore; it was the fa- 
vorite flower at classic festivals ; showers of roses adorned the 
couches of the guests at Cleopatra's sumptuous banquet to 
Mark Antony. It was also used as an emblem of chivalry by the 
knights of the middle ages. The rival factions of the Houses 
of York and Lancaster, which entailed some thirty years' civil 
war in England, wore as their respective insignia, the white and 
red rose. And the name Rosary^ from rosa, was first given to 
a string of beads, in 1571, in memory of the victory of the 
Christians over the Turks. Mary Queen of Scots sent to E.on- 
sard, for his beautiful poetry on this clief-d)ce,uvre of the vege- 
table kingdom, a magnificent rose of silver, valued at five 
hundred guineas. 

" There is one circumstance connected with the rose, which 
renders it a more true and striking emblem of earthly pleasure 
than any other flower — it hears a thorn. While its odorous 
breath is floating on the summer gale, and its blushing cheek, 
half hid amongst the sheltering leaves, seems to woo and yet 
shrink from the beholder's gaze, touch but with adventurous 
hand the garden queen, and you are pierced with her protect- 



454 FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS. 

ing thorns ; would you pluck the rose and weave it into a gar- 
land for the brow you love best, that brow will be wounded." * 
The rose is, moreover, in floral rhetoric, symbolical of the 
tender passion ; and its blushing beauty is well deserving of 
the honor, for what other gem in the diadem of Flora pos- 
sesses 

" Such blaze of beauty as translates 

To dullest hearts the dialect of love " ? 

But we have to turn from this stately and peerless flower, 
although much more miglit be said or sung in its praise. 

It has been well said that " in the East men care little for 
the flowers of rhetoric, while the women are well versed in the 
rhetoric of flowers. A bouquet is a discourse, with its exordium 
and its peroration ; each blossom is a Ciceronian period. The 
most delicate shades of sentiment, the most subtle ideas of the 
heart's metaphysics, can all be expressed in the language of 
flowers." t 

One of the most curious and interesting specimens of the 
floral kingdom is the so-called " Kesurrection-flower." When 
closed it resembles a poppy-head, but when its blossoms are 
expanded it looks somewhat like the Passion-flower, with radia- 
tions like a star. Its botanical history is somewhat involved in 
obscurity. It has been supposed to be a type or variety of the 
long-lost Rose of Jericho, also called the Rose of Sharon and 
Star of Bethlehem, from the fact that it presents some resem- 
blance to, the flower sculptured on two of the tombs of the 
Crusaders, in the Temple Church, London. There is a Califor- 
nian plant also called by the same name, from the fact that its 
root and fibres are contracted and of brown color when kept 
from moisture, but after being put into water, the leaves in a 
short time become green again. The Scarlet Pimpernel is 
one of the " English Cottager's " favorite flowers ; for it serves 
* Mrs. Ellis. t So. Lit. Miss. , 7. 



FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS. 455 

him for a time-teller as well as an indicator of the weather ; 
upon the approach of rain it closes itself up. A similar sensi- 
tiveness to rain and the return of evening is observable also 
in the familiar Morning-glory^ or Convolvulus^ with its many- 
colored blossoms. 

The part from which the aroma proceeds is various in differ- 
ent plants ; most frequently it exists in the blooming corolla ; 
it is thus with the honeysuckle, the hawthorn, and many 
others. Sometimes it is found in the herbage, as the sweet- 
brier, the sweet woodruff, or the ground ivy ; it is even occa- 
sionally in the root. So pungent is the scent of some flowers, 
that persons of a nervous temperament are unable to inhale 
it without suffering acute pain ; some will be affected with 
headache by the smell of mignonette, the hawthorn, the lily, 
the lilac, and the laburnum. The fragran(;e yielded by some 
plants, when crushed, has suggested many beautiful images to 
poets : Moore alludes to this circumstance when, referring to 
the only consolation in sorrow, he says : 

"And thou canst heal the broken heart, 
Which lite the plants that throw 
Their fragrance from the wounded part, 
Breathe sweetness out of woe." 

Leigh Hunt has the following genial passage touching the 
perfume of flowers : 

" What world of mystery everywhere hangs about us and 
within us! Who can, even in imagination, penetrate to the 
depths of the commonest of the phenomena of our daily life % 
Take, for instance, one of those pots of Narcissi. We have 
ourselves had a plant of the variety known as soleil d'or, in 
flower, in a sitting-room for six weeks, during the depth of 
winter, giving forth the whole of that time, without (so far as 
we know) ceasing, even during sleep (for we need hardly tell 
our readers that plants do sleep), the same full stream of fra- 



456 FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS. 

grance. Love itself does not seem to preserve more absolutely 
its wealth, while most liberally dispensing it ! That fragrance 
has a material basis, though we cannot detect it by our finest 
tests. What millions of millions of atoms must go to the for- 
mation of even a single gust, as it were, of this divine floAver- 
breath! Yet this goes on, through seconds, minutes, hours, 
days, weeks, and ceases only with the health of the flower 
petals. Where, then, in these petals — these thin, unsubstantial 
cream-flakes — may we look to find stored up all these in- 
exhaustible supplies! Where, indeed? and if they are not 
stored up, but newly created as given forth — is not that 
even more wonderful ? Would that any one could show us 
the nature and modes of operation of such miraculous chemis- 
try." 

Both the Egyptian Lotus and the Water Lily expand their 
blossoms in the sunshine, and during the day only, closing 
them towards evening, when they recline on the surface of the 
water, or sink beneath it. 

The jessamine, also, with its dark green leaves, and little 
silver stars, saluting us with its delicious scent, and impregnating 
the surrounding atmosphere with odoriferous sweets, has been 
the recognized symbol of poetic sentiment with the bards of 
all ages. 

Jessica, the French naturalist, says he was intoxicated with 
delight when first he discovered that fragrant blossom — the 
Heliotrope, on the mountains of the Cordilleras. When first 
introduced to France, no vase was thought too expensive or 
precious for the growth of this odorous plant. 

Like the " Morning-glory," or Convolvulus, and the sensitive 
plant, there are other fiowers and herbs, which close up their 
leaves and blossoms during the night and re-open them with 
the return of day. This has been called " the sleep of plants." 
The slightest touch of the " Sensitive Plant," however, causes its 



FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLO WEES. 457 

leaves suddenly to collapse. SSCEfe' fine lines come to our mem- 
ory here : 

' ' A sensitive plant in a garden grew, 
And the young winds fed it with silver dew ; 
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light, 
And closed them beneath the kisses of night ! " 

The Victoria Regia, or gigantic "Water-lily, is unrivalled among 
the aquatic flowers. The entire plant measures about twenty 
feet; it is a native of Central America, and is found upon the 
marshes of the Amazon and its tributaries. This superb plant 
was discovered about forty years ago ; and a colossal illustrated 
volume, descriptive of a beautiful specimen of this lily, at the 
Botanical Gardens, Kew, England, has been published by 
Hooker. D'Orbigny describes the one he saw as overspreading 
nearly a mile of water with its huge, round, and curiously mar- 
gined leaves, among which glittered here and there the magni- 
ficent white and pink flowers, scenting the air with their deli- 
cious fragrance. One of these gigantic leaves measured six feet 
five inches in diameter, and was as heavy as a man could carry ; 
and yet these leaves float by means of air-cells, contained in 
their thick, projecting, innumerable nerves. Its seeds, when 
roasted, form a valuable article of food, and resemble maize. 

One of the most splendid of the Cactus species is the Cereus 
Grandijlorus, or Night-blooming Cereus, the blossoms of which 
begin to expand about sunset, and are fully blown about mid- 
night. During its short continuance, there is scarcely any flower 
of greater known beauty. When several of these magnificent 
flowers are open at once upon a single plant, they seem like 
stars shining out in all their lustre. 

Of all objects of the vegetable kingdom, the ivy is perhaps 
one of the most poetical. It is at once suggestive of some 
ancient religious fane, or some venerable ruin, some old 
cathedral or monastic remains; for around such cherished 



458 FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS. 

relics of the past it loves to cliug and to beautify with its 
luxuriant and fanciful festoons. We all remember Dickens's 
beautiful tribute to it : 

" Oh ! a dainty plant is the Ivy green, that creepeth o'er ruins old ! 

sfe 3(e i)e 3)c a|e aK :]e 

The brave old plant in its lonely days shall fatten upon the past ; 
For the stateliest building man can raise is the Ivy's food at last ! 

Creeping where no life is seen, 

A rare old plant is the Ivy green." 

The American Aloe, of the Pine-tree tribe, is a gorgeous 
evergreen: its flower-stem is from twenty to thirty feet in 
height; when in flower it is of surpassing beauty. It was 
formerly supposed to blossom once in a century (and hence it 
was sometimes called the Century Plant), and then to die ; 
but it usually flowers about every tenth year. 

We are all familiar with the Witch-hazel, and its mystic cu- 
rative virtues. Here is an apostrophe to it : 

" Mysterious plant ! whose golden tresses wave 
With a sad beauty in the dying year. 
Blooming amid November's frost severe. 
Like the pale corpse-light o'er the recent grave ! 
If shepherds tell us true, thy word hath power, 
With gracious influence, to avert the harm 
Of ominous planets, and the fatal charm 
Of spirits wandering at the midnight hour ; 
And thou canst point where buried treasures lie. 
But yet to me thou art an emblem high 
Of patient virtue, to the Christian given, 
Unchang'd and bright, when all is dark beside ; 
Our shield from wild temptations, and our guide 
To treasures for the just laid up in heaven." 

In the economy of nature plants give out small portions of 
carbonic acid gas at night; but during the day they absorb it, 
retaining its carbon, and thus restore the equilibrium of the 
atmosphere, by again exhaling the oxygen. 



FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS. 450 

Many interesting particulars might be adduced toucliing the 
botanic history of ornamental plants — for instance, the almost 
infinite variety of their leaves and blossoms. Some leaves are 
smooth, others are hairy on their surface — which latter kind, 
when laden with dew, glisten like diamonds in the sun's ray. 
Leaves are, in the vegetable kingdom, what lungs are in the 
animal ; this may be readily ascertained by placing a young 
vine-leaf over a wine glass, when, if it be a hot day, you will 
very soon find the glass quite damp, and in the course of a short 
time the moisture, from the emitted perspiration, will run down 
in drops. It is the chemical action of light upon leaves and 
stems that causes their green color ; if kept a long period in 
darkness, they would become white or colorless. 

Flowers were not only used for personal decoration among 
the Romans ; they were made the accessories of religion. 
Their priests, altars, and even their sacrifices were adorned 
with these delicate emblems. Their statues were also crowned 
with them : hence Yenus is sometimes represented wearing 
roses, Juno with the lily, and Ceres with her hair entwined 
with wheat and poppies. The bridal wreath is still the beauti- 
ful emblem of innocence and truth. The Cypress, in all na- 
tions an emblem of sorrow, was used by the Romans to deck 
the dwellings of the deceased, because, if once cut down, that 
plant will not spring up again ; it had, therefore, a true signifi- 
cance in their case, since they believed death to be an eternal 
sleep; with the more cheering faith of Christianity, the ever- 
green is the emblem. The custom of garnishing the graves 
of the departed with flowers is a universal and felicitous one — 
full of eloquent appeals to the heart of sorrowing survivors ; 
for while they form expressive emblems of the frailty of the 
present, are they not also the brilliant prophecy of a glorious 
immortality ? 

Many of the choicest of Flora's beauties liave been christened 



4G0 



FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FLOWERS. 



with sacred memorial names by the early botanists. Thus we 
have : Holy Rhood-fLower, Mary-gold, Passion-flower, Cross of 
Jerusalem, the Cross of Malta, etc. The floral nomenclature 
of more modern times is more for the poetic sentiment : Forget, 
me-not. Fox-glove {i.e., folks' or fairy glove), Daisy (day's eye), 
Night-shade, Heart's Ease, etc. 

Adieu, then, to the sweet sisterhood of the fairy Flowers, 
and let our farewell tribute be a paean of praise to their Great 
Author, who has so lavishly beautified our pathway of life with 
their fragrance and their smiles. 

" Full dull the eye, and dull the heart, that cannot feel how fair, 
Amid aU beauty, beautiful their dainty blossoms are." 





LITERAET LARCENIES. 

"For out of the olde fieldes, as men saithe, 

Cometh all this newe com fro yere to yere : 
And out of olde bookes, in good faithe, 

Cometh all this newe science that men lere." — Chancer. 



Okiginality has been defined " unconscious or undetected 
imitation." " As for originality," wrote Byron, in Iiis journal, 
" all pretentions to it are ridiculous ; ' there is nothing new un- 
der the sun.' " Moore, once observing Byron with a book full 
of paper-marks, asked him what it was. " Only a book," he 
answered, " from which I am trying to crib; as I do whenever I 
can, and that's the way I get the character of an original poet." 



462 LITERARY LARCENIES. 

" Though in imputing to himself premeditated plagiarism," ob- 
serves his biographer, " he was, of course, but jesting ; it was, 
I am inclined to think, his practice, when engaged in the com- 
position of any work, to excite thus his vein, by the perusal of 
others on the same subject." " When I was a young man," 
says Goldsmith, " being anxious to distinguish myself, I was 
perpetually starting new propositions ; but I soon gave this 
over, for I found that generally what was new was false. 
Strictly speaking, we may be original without being new; 
the thought may be our own, and yet commonplace." 

On the other hand, it must be admitted, with Pollok, that 
while " the siccaneous critic or the meagre scribbler may hang 
his head in despair, and murmur out that what can be done 
is done already ; yet he who has drank of Castalia's fount, and 
listened to the mighty voice of the Parnassian sisters, and who 
casts his bold eye on Creation, inexhaustible as its Maker, and 
catches inspiration while he gazes ; will take the lyre in his 
hand, delight with new melody the ear of mortals, and write 
his name among the immortal in song." 

Many, if not most, of the poets can scarcely plead guiltless of 
the charge of plagiarism, if not in its direct sense, at least in 
some of its modified forms. .There may be accidental coinci- 
dences of thought and resemblances of expression on the one 
part, and there are on the other hand a class of commonly re- 
ceived words and ideas which are, indeed, the current coin of 
the republic of letters, A writer may, therefore, be a frequent 
plagiarist and yet in other respects exhibit undoubted origin- 
ality. "Montaigne borrowed largely from Seneca and Plu- 
tarch ; and what he has copied, without acknowledgment, from 
them, Charron and Corneille have adopted in the same unscru- 
pulous manner from him. Pascal, who is generally reckoned 
one of the most original thinkers of the seventeenth century, is 
described as surpassing all others by his daring feats of plagiar- 



LITERARY LARCENIES. 463 

ism. In a single chapter of his Pensees^ Nodier has pointed 
out seven or eight instances of this species of theft ; and for 
further examples he invites the curious reader to a compari- 
son of the Pensees with the Essays of Montaigne." 

Emerson assumes that it is the duty and the province of great 
minds to adopt the thoughts of others — to embalm them for fu- 
turity — to take the roughly-hewn blocks from the thought-mines 
of others and fashion them into mosques, feudal towers, or pyr- 
amids, as the loving, chivalrous, or sublime spirit of the builder 
may suggest. 

This communistic appropriation of ideas — this building from 
another's quarry, is a species of free-masonry, that may some- 
times be more free than welcome. 

It has been gravely asked who are original thinkers ; even 
those who rank as philosophical writers, adopt the opinions of 
their predecessors — some favorite theory of a former age ; and 
having espoused it, they indorsed the new creed with an enthu- 
siasm as zealous as if it were one of their own creation. There 
are a few noble exceptions to the rule, however, for the honor 
of learning ; the daring Florentine, for instance : a large propor- 
tion of our modern literature might be, with advantage to all 
parties, suppressed, since it possesses in the main but the ques- 
tionable merit of a metamorphoses. 

The remark ascribed to Pope Ganganelli, that all books in 
the known world might be comprised in six thousand folio vol- 
umes, if filled with original matter, was, we think, an ex- 
tremely liberal estimate. 

One age battens upon its predecessor with gnome-like rapa- 
city and thus a host of pseudo-authors acquire an undeserved 
reputation. Homer, Dante, Rabelais, and Shakespeare, Cha- 
teaubriand styles the great universal individualities and great 
parent geniuses, who appear to have nourished all others. The 
first fertilized antiquity ; .i^Eschylus, Euripides, Sophocles, Hor- 



464 LITERAEY LARCENIES. 

ace, Aristophanes, and Virgil were his sons. Dante, in like 
manner, was the father of modern Italy, from Petrarch to 
Tasso. Rabelais created the literature of France ; Montaigne, 
La Fontaine, Moliere, descended from him ; while England 
owes nearly all to Shakespeare and Bacon, People often deny 
the authority of these supreme masters — they rebel against them, 
proclaim their defects, but with as much propriety as one might 
the spots on the sun's disc ; they even accuse them of tedious- 
ness, and sometimes absurdity, while in the very act of robbing 
them and decking themselves in their spoils. 

The student in his literary progress will derive no small in- 
terest in discovering, as he inevitably will, if he goes deep 
enough, the hidden germs of many of the happiest expressions 
which adorn the pages of our distinguished writers. 

Almost every author of any standing in the ranks of litera- 
ture may be regarded as a borrower, in a greater or less degree, 
from the commonwealth of letters. Even Shakespeare, Milton, 
Gray, are frequently indebted to their predecessors in " boke- 
craf t ; " the latter to the classic writers. 

Butler compares a literary plagiarist to an Italian thief, who 
never robs but he murders to prevent discovery. Another defi- 
nition, somewhat akin, describes the plagiarist as a " purloiner, 
who filches the fruit that others have gathered and then throws 
away the basket." 

After all that may be urged on the score of accidental coin- 
cidences of thought and expression, it cannot be questioned 
that there has been perpetrated a vast amount of literary fraud. 

Could we invoke the spirits of the departed, what pitiless 
plaints would be preferred against the spoliations of many a 
modern scribe, who, to avoid the trouble of tliinking for him- 
self has chosen the more summary mode of allowing others to 
do so for him. Tet, after all, who should complain, when such 



LITERAEY LARCENIES. 465 

a vast economy of time and trouble mav be achieved by the 
labor-saving process. 

A writer, it is observed, may steal after the manner of bees, 
without wronging anybody ; but the theft of the ant, which 
takes away the whole grain of corn, is not to be imitated. A 
French writer* observes, " To take from the ancients, and make 
one's advantage of what they have written, is like pirating be- 
yond the line ; but to steal from one's contemporaries, by sur- 
reptitiously appropriating to one's self their thoughts and pro- 
ductions, is like picking people's pockets in the open street." 

Instances of petty larceny are undoubtedly more numerous 
than such as may be styled cases of grand literary larceny ; and 
we have even heard it advocated as a meritorious virtue in a 
writer, when he shall abstract from a previous author some ac- 
knowledged beauty, either of rhetoric or thought, and afresh 
incorporate it as his own, on the plea that a gem may often lie 
long obscured, and acquire redoubled lustre by the skill of the 
artist in the resetting. 

A strong resemblance may occur between two writers, if not 
indeed a strict identity both of ideas and language, which may 
be purely accidental; but this must be an occurrence exceed- 
ingly rare. A bold or beautiful thought is sometimes likely so 
to impress the imagination as to exist in the memory long after 
its paternity is forgotten, and thus become ingrafted into the 
mind so as to seem part of itself; such a case would certainly 
admit of great extenuation in the criminal code of literary jur- 
isprudence. 

Literary frauds of various kinds have been practised by in- 
genious fabricators in almost every age and every civilized 
country. Supposititious books and literary impostures by scores, 
have ever been floating on the tide of Time. 



* Vayer. 
30 



466 LITERARY LARCENIES. 

Let us glance rapidly at some of the more noteworthy poetic 
parallels, accidental or plagi .iristic. 

Perhaps Shakespeare's prolific muse has been more laid under 
contribution by literary filchers than any other writer of mod- 
em times ; for instance, it is apparent that Pope's oft-quoted 
lines, 

" Honor and shame from no condition rise, 
Act well your part, there all the honor lies," 

were but another rendering of the same thought, expressed not 
less forcibly, by the great dramatic bard — 

" From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, 
The place is dignified by the doer's deed." 

Byron, in Childe Harold, has the image of a broken mirror 
to show how a broken heart multiplies images of sorrow. But 
the same simile is in Burton. Giordano Bruns said that the first 
people of the world should rather be called the youngsters than 
the ancients. Lord Bacon (a great plagiarist) makes use of the 
very same idea. 

Addison speaks of the stars " forever singing as they shine." 
Sir Thomas Browne talks of " the singing constellations ; " 
though both have followed the idea expressed in the Scripture. 
Shelley speaks of Death and his brother Sleep. The thought 
is taken from Sir Thomas Browne. 

Goldsmith's well-known line, — 

" Man wants but little here below, nor wants that little long," — 

was evidently taken from Young, who, in his Night Thoughts, 
says : 

" Man wants but Uttle, nor that little long." 
That hackneyed line in Campbell's Pleasures of Hojpe, 
" Like angel visits, few and far between," 



LITERARY LARCENIES. 467 

is borrowed almost literally from Blair's Grave, where we 
have— 

-" its visits, 
Like those of angels, short axid far between." * 

Pope, again, was not innocent of the charge, as may be seen 
in one or two examples : 

" Eye Nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies. 
And catch the manners living as they rise ; 
Laugh when we must, be candid when we can, 
And vindicate the ways of God to man." 

Dryden's lines, in Absalom, read, 

' ' While he with watchful eye 
Observes and shoots their treasons as they fly." 

And Milton supplies Pope's last line, in the following : 

' ' That to the height of this great argument 
I may assert eternal Providence 
And justify the ways of God to men ? " 

Against his celebrated "Essay on Criticism," Lady Wort- 
ley Montague has preferred a far more serious accusation : 
she writes, " I admired Mr. Pope's ' Essay on Criticism,' at 
jBj-st very much, because I had uotthen read any of the ancient 
critics, and did not know that it was all stolen.^'' 

* Wilmott contends that this beautiful conceit originated with Norris of Ben 
ton, in his poem, entitled Tlie Parting. The stanza reads : 

" How fading are the joys we dote upon ; 
Like apparitions seen and gone ; 

But those who soonest take their flight 
Are the most exquisite and strong. 
Like angels' visits short and bright ; 
Mortality's too weak to bear them long." 



468 LITERARY LARCENIES. 

The couplet, 

" Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
As to be hated, needs but to be seen," 

is evidently traceable to a passage from Leighton. 

Pope's famous line, " The proper study of mankind ie 
man," which Charron had said before him, is evidently a trans- 
fer from Pascal's " Pensees," — " I'etude de I'homme, puisque 
c'est celle qui lui est propre." The origin of the thought is prob- 
ably traceable to Xenophon. 

Again, in his " Essay on Criticism," we have the couplet, 

•' A little learning is a dangerous thing ; 
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring ; " 

which has its source in Lord Bacon's " Essay on Atheism : " 
"A little philosophy inclineth man's mind to atheism, but 
depth in philosophy bringeth men's minds about to religion. 

Pope's " Vital spark of heavenly flame " is evidently derived 
from Hadrian's lines, also from a fragment of Sappho, and 
later still Flatman's lines on a departing spirit. 

Gray's classic Elegy is said to be a kind of literary mosaic. 
Its beautiful thoughts are taken from the Greek and Latin au- 
thors, and also from Dante. One of the finest stanzas of the 
Elegy is but a free translation of the Latin couplet : 

' ' Plurima gemma latet caeca tellure sepulta ; 
Plurima neglecto fragrat odore rosa." 

Gray's lines are : 

" Full many a gem, of purest ray serene. 

The dark, unf athomed caves of ocean bear ; 
Full many a flower is bom to blush unseen. 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 



LITERARY LARCENIES. 469 

Even Cowper seems to have taken that oft-quoted line, 
" England, witli all thy faults, I love thee still," 

from Churchill's " Farewell : " 

" Be England what she wiU, 
With all her faults, she is my country still." 

Byron, again, in his " Bride of Abydos," imitates a song in 
Goethe's " Wilhelm Meister." The former commences, 

" Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle 
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime." 

And the latter reads : 

" Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom, 
Where the gold orange glows in the deep thicket's gloom." 

Campbell seems to have had a couplet from Pope's " Battle of 
the Frogs and Mice," in his mind when he wrote his " Pleas- 
ures of Hope." The former reads : 

" When front to front the marching armies shine. 
Halt ere they meet, and form the lengthening line ;" 

and Campbell's lines are : 

" When front to front the bannered hosts combine. 
Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line." 

The plagiarism of Campbell from an elder poet, Vaughan, ia 
worthy of being cited : 

(CampbeWs.) 

" When o'er the green, undeluged earth. 
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine ; 
How came the icorld^s gray fathers forth, 
To watch thy sacred sign." 



470 LITERARY LARCENIES. 

( VaugTutn's.) 

* ' StiU young and fine ! but what is still in view 
We slight as old and soiled, though fresh and new : 
How bright wert thou, when Shem's admiring eye 
Thy biirrung, flaming arch did first descry ; 
When Zerah, Nahor, Haram, Abra,m, Lot, 
The youthful world's gray fathers, in one knot, 
Did, with intentive looks watch every hour 
For thy new light, and trembled at each shower ! " 

The occasional conceits in this black-letter bard, coupled 
with his earnest straightforwardness and sincerity, compensate 
us for the absence of the rich embellishment of Campbell. 

We cannot forbear quoting, from the English Bards and 
Scotch Reviewers, Byron's well-known lines on the death of 
Kirke White, because the most beautiful figure in them seems 
evidently copied from Waller, We commence with Byron : 

" 'Twas thine own genius gave the fatal blow, 

And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low 1 
So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain. 
No more through rolling clouds to soar again. 
Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, 
And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart : 
Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel, 
He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel, 
While the same plumage that had warmcJ. his nest, 
Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast ! " 

Waller's stanza, which expresses a similar sentiment, is as 
follows : 

" That eagle's fate and mine are one, 

Which on the shaft that made him die 
Espied a feather of his own 

Wherewith he'd wont to soar so high. " 

In Thomas Moore's poetic epistle. Corruption, the same 
figure also occurs : 



LITERAEY LARCENIES. 471 

" Like a young' eagle, who has lent his plume 
To fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom, 
See their own feathers plucked to wing the dart. 
Which rank corruption destines for their heart." 

Moore has been charged with liberal plagiarisms upon Beran- 
ger, as well as being a close copyist of some of his other 
contemporaries in vernacular verse, a detailed account of which 
was given in Blackwood some years ago, exhibiting a series of 
specifications amounting to sixty-five ! 

The fine moral poem of the " Hermit," by Parnell, is taken 
from Martin Luther's tale of a hermit, who murmured against 
the decrees of Divine Providence. What Sterne has not 
plagiarized, we shall not stay to notice, notwithstanding he 
counterfeited most excellent coin. He has been charged with 
pilfering from Burton, Rabelais, Montaigne, Bayle, and others. 

Scott was always esteemed an original writer, but Lord 
Jeffrey, in reviewing his works, said : " Even in him the 
traces of imitation are obvious and abundant." 

The best couplet of Tickell's best poem is in his elegy on 
Addison : 

" He taught us how to live, and oh ! too high 
The price of knowledge, taught us how to die ! " 

Now compare the following, from Sandys' AngloruTn Spec- 
ulum : " I have taught you, my dear flock, for above thirty 
years, how to live ; I wish to show you, in a very short time, 
how to die." See also Goldsmith's " Village Clergyman," for 
another and later rendering of the idea. 

As for Coleridge, he stole in such an opiatic way, and so 
totally forgot from whence he stole, that in many editions of 
his poems epigrams from Schiller and Goethe are still inserted 
without acknowledgment ; and he actually to his dying day 
believed that Faust was an old idea of his own. 



472 LITERARY LARCENIES. 

Fuller thus beautifully depicts the last moments of a dying 
saint : 

" Drawing near her death, she sent most pious thoughts as 
harbingers to heaven ; and her soul saw a glimpse of happiness 
through the chinks of her sickness-broken body." And "Waller 
versifies the same beautiful idea : 

" The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, 
Lets in new light through chinks that time has made. 
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become, 
As they draw near to their eternal home. " 

Addison and Pope may be said to " divide the honors " as to 
the authorship of the line — 

"Rides on the whirlwind, and directs the storm," 

since it appears in the writings of both. 

Some critics have supposed that even Milton's " Paradise 
Lost " was suggested by De Bartas's " Divine Weekes ; " while 
others, with greater plausibility, trace its origin to Avitus, one 
of the Fathers of the Church, who wrote Latin poems on the 
Creation, the Fall, etc. There is yet another conjecture that 
the works of Yondel, the Shakespeare of Holland, may have 
suggested the idea of our Englisli epic. His "Lucifer" ap- 
peared some fourteen years before the " Paradise Lost " of 
Milton. The principal resemblances between them, however, 
consist in the subjects selected, and the names of some of the 
characters introduced into our great epic. Another literary 
censor, Landor, suggests that Milton was indebted to a Latin 
drama, entitled " Sarcotidos," written by Grotius ; as there are 
evident parallels both in structure and thought between the 
productions. Even Shakespeare, " the blameless idol of all 
intellectual men," is charged, as intimated, with having stolen 
his plots from earlier dramatists and the Italian poets. 



LITERARY LARCENTES. 473 

The literary faux-pas of a once celebrated chemist, by his 
work on CheTnical Tests, is known to the scientific in both 
hemispheres. He published a work on poisons, entitled 
Death in the Pot, which at first bid fair to yield its author a 
moderately good revenue of fame and fortune, but for the dis- 
covery which was soon made, that it consisted of a series of pil- 
fered pages, torn out of old books in the British Museum ; he 
was tried upon a criminal suit for felony, and although for- 
mally acquitted, yet so strong was the impression of his guilt 
that he was compelled to retire from observation. 

The departments of law, physic, and theology have not been 
exempt from literary pilferers ; even Biblical commentators are 
not innocent of this charge, as we learn from the preface tc 
Cobbin's " Condensed Commentary." He there says : 

" All the commentators have drawn largely from the Fathers, 
especially from St. Augustine ; and most of them have made 
common property of Patrick, South, and Whitby. Henry has 
made very free use with Bishop Hall and others, and Scott has 
again enriched himself abundantly from Henry ; Poole ex- 
hausted the continental writers, while Gill, unlike the others, 
acknowledges his obligations." The number of commentators 
is great ; yet if the uncopied portions were to be collected, they 
would, perhaps, occupy a single duodecimo. 

Akenside first published his Pleasures of Imagination 
anonymously ; and very soon after a pretender, of the name of 
Eolt, actually had the impudence to go over to Duhlin and 
publish an edition of that fine poem with his own name at- 
tached to it as the author. The " Man of Feeling," by Mac- 
kenzie, was also originally published under the assumed name 
of Eccles, who borrowed the manuscript on pretence of perus- 
ing it. This rogue succeeded to such an extent in his impos- 
ture, that the real author found at first great trouble in estab- 
lishing his just claim to its authorship before the world. 



474: LITERARY LARCENIES. 

Hunter's " Captivity among the Indians " is a pure fabrica 
cation; yet it acquired considerable notoriety in London, some 
fifty years ago, and its author was lionized by the public. Sir 
Everard Home was a notorious instance of wholesale literary 
fraud, upon the celebrated Dr. Hunter's writings, which formed 
the basis of Home's pretended " Lectures before the Royal Col- 
lege of Surgeons." 

Next of kin to literary thefts may be classed impostures ; and 
of these we might mention as prominent instances, Chatterton's 
" Rowley Poems," Macpherson's " Poems of Ossian," L'eland'& 
" Shakespeare Forgeries," Landor's " Trial of Shakespeare for 
Deer-stealing," and several others of French origin. 

The Ossian poems were once so admired by the French, that 
they were thought to rival many of the prominent productions- 
of the British Muse. Napoleon is said to have made them hi& 
constant study. 

A mysterious individual (we shall never know who he was^ 
or whence he came ; for George PsalTnanazar was his assumed 
name) is supposed to have been a native of Provence. He 
was educated among the Jesuits, and after some years 
travelled over Germany and elsewhere, disguised as a mendi- 
cant, or pilgrim. When he reached England he gave himself 
out as a Japanese from the island of Formosa. Pie died at 
the age of eighty-three, in the year 1763. He was not only a 
literary forger of manuscripts, but an inventor of a language, 
of a chirography, and indeed of an imaginary island called 
Formosa. His autobiography is one of the most curious and 
romantic pieces of writing extant. 

The work appeared in 1704, and was speedily translated into 
French and German ; and for nearly a century this ingenious 
fabrication was quoted by savans as an authority ! Ireland, 
with far less talent than Psalmanazar, displayed yet the greater 
audacity in his attempt to counterfeit Shakespeare ; and yet he 



LITERARY LARCENIES. 475 

had adroitness sufficient to dupe the learned world for a sea- 
son, for many of its representatives were only too eager to pay 
liberally for even fac-similes of these pseudo-Shakespearean 
manuscripts. 

It is doubtful if such devout consternation and enthusiastic 
admiration were ever enkindled among the cognoscenti and 
dilettanti of the civilized world, as were caused by his fabrica- 
tions. Dr. Parr has, we believe, the credit of having detected 
the fraud. 

The literary forgeries of Chatterton were induced by the 
cold neglect with which he fouAd his own original effusions 
were received ; and yet Byron, Shelley, Coleridge, Southey, 
Wordsworth, and other great poets, have lauded Chatterton as 
a precocious and remarkable genius. Keats dedicated his 
" Endymion " to his memory, and Wordsworth styled him 

" The marvellous boy, 
The sleepless soul that perished in its pride." 

Poor Chatterton wrote graceful verses at the early age of 
eleven ; at sixteen he produced his " Rowley Poems ; " at nine- 
teen his life was embittered by terrible privation, and suicidal 
death soon after succeeded. These literary forgeries have, 
however, from their great merit, become incorporated into our 
" English " literature, after having provoked among the learned 
an unusually prolonged discussion and controversy. One of 
the most deeply interesting biographies we ever read was that 
of the poet Chatterton. His brief but hapless career was 
crowded with touching incidents. 

Not long since a celebrated French savant was victimized 
by an ingenious imposture, which cost him, it is said, some 
20,000 francs. It was the so-called discovery of a valuable 
collection of manuscripts by Pascal, on some pretended 
scientific discovery. Cases of literary freebooting and 



476 LITERARY LARCENIES. 

fraud crowd upon us ; but we must content ourselves with 
what has been already adduced, for fear we become sceptical 
as to the existence of any remaining integrity in the world of 
letters; and possibly the reader may even begin to suspect the 
integrity of the present writing. 

We lately met with an amusing Booh of Blunders, in 
which is given an expose of the anachronisms and errors of 
syntax or fact, committed by some of our prominent authors ! 
To quote some of these literary bulls and blunders might be 
amusing, as presenting some points of humor for their absurdity. 
Many of these literary curiosities will surprise the reader also 
on account of their paternity. 

Byron says in " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage : " "I stood in 
Yenice, on the Bridge of Sighs, a palace and a prison on each 
hand." Meaning the Ducal palace on the one hand and the 
State prison on the other. 

Instances of grammatical blunders not a few might be cited 
against accredited writers ; but we pass them over. There are 
also the anachronisms of Shakespeare, which occur in Corio- 
lanus, King Lear, Macbeth^ and King John. 

In the iirst-named play, the error consists in making Cato 
contemporary with Coriolanus, whereas the former lived two 
centuries later ! In the King Lear occurs the line, " If it be 
nothing, I shall not want spectacles." Now Lear was an early 
Anglo-Saxon King, and spectacles were known only to the 14th 
century. Again, Macbeth was killed in 1054 and King John be- 
gan his reign in 1199, while the battle of Cressy, where cannon 
were first used, occurred in 1346 ; and yet Shakespeare antici- 
pates, in both these plays, the use of cannon. In " Julius Caesar " 
and the " Comedy of Errors " are similar errors of date. 

We should scarcely suspect Milton of a bull, yet in Para- 
dise Lost Adam is represented as one of his own sons, and Eve 
one of her own daughters : 



LITERAEY LARCENIES. 477 

" Adam, the goodliest man of men since bom, 
His sons, — the fairest of Iter daughters. Eve." 

Nor is the classic English of Addison free from such blem 
ishes ; in his Oato we read, 

" So the pure limpid stream, when/owZ vnth stains 
Of rushing torrents and descending rains." 

And in his " Letter from Italy " he thus mingles up his 
metaphorical allusions : 

" I bridle in my struggling muse with pain, 
That longs to launch into a bolder strain." 

What connection is there between a horse and a ship ? Even 
the learned lexicographer, Dr. Johnson, has been detected of 
similar blunders ; to wit, the following : " Every monumental 
inscription should be in Latin ; for that being a dead language, 
it will always live ! " And again in the following lines : 

" Nor yet perceived the vital spirit fled, 
But still fought on, nor knew that he was dead/ " 

Some of these illustrations are as paradoxical as the infatu- 
ated faction in one of the Irish rebellions, who, to revenge 
themselves of a prominent banker, actually burned all his 
bank-notes that they could find. 

Having thus taken a brief glance at prominent cases of liter- 
ary fraud, we are tempted to inquire whether there is such a 
thing in existence as absolute moral honesty. The earliest in- 
dications of childhood afford us no very conclusive evidence in 
its behalf, however guileless the incipient knavery, while 
among the unsophisticated rangers of the forest, similar de- 
velopments of a natural law of secretiveness are no less obser- 
vable. The governing impulse of the robber seems but the 
exuberant outgrowth of the very principle, otherwise known by 



478 



LITERARY LARCENIES. 



the less objectionable epithet — covetousness ; and we cannot but 
conclude that he must be an ingenious sophist who can adduce 
any substantial reasons against their positive identity. If, 
then, they are convertible terms, it is solely to our conventional 
usase we must ascribe the fact that both are not alike visited 
by penal enactment. How far such a course may conflict with 
our notions of abstract justice we, leave the reader to decide, 
since to both we admit an eager, if not an equal, proclivity. 

" In the crowd, 
May it please your excellency, your thief looks 
Exactly like the rest, or rather better ; 
'Tis only at the bar, and in the dungeon. 
That wise men know your felon by his features." 








THE MUTE CREATION. 



We do not propose any metaphysical or psychological 
inquiry as to whether animals possess reasoning powers ; but 
rather to group together for our amusement some of the illus- 
trative instances whicli seem to favor such a conclusion. Vol- 
umes have been written about the economy of the ants, and 
the monarchy of the bees, as well as of sagacious dogs and 
their doings, cats and their cunning ways, parrots and their 
prattle, and monkeys and their comic manoeuvres. Let us then 
con over some of these curious connecting links in the great 
chain of creation, with its boasted lord — the "paragon of 
animals." 



480 THE MUTE CREATION. 

Instinct seems to be the incipient state of reason, although the 
instinctive sensations of which animals are the subjects cannot 
be properly classed in the same category with the ideas or the 
rationative process of the human mind. Here is the dividing 
line between instinct and reason, and yet it is difficult for the 
metaphysician to define the boundaries of each, since, as in 
the several kingdoms of nature — animal, vegetable, mineral — 
they seem to commingle where they unite. 

The instinct of animals, it has been urged, is limited to 
memory enlightened by experience ; the intelligence of man, 
on the contrary, is unrestricted and free. This constitutes his 
superiority. Hence, animals are stationary, while man is 
progressive. Beavers construct their habitations, birds their 
nests, bees their hives, and the spider its web, with an admira- 
ble ingenuity ; but the most sagacious of them cannot apply 
their skill to purposes beyond the sphere of their particular 
wants, nor do any of them improve in the smallest degree on 
their predecessors. Exactly as they respectively built at the 
time of the ci*eation, so will they continue to build nntil the 
end of time. 

On the other hand man is dependent on education ; he is 
the most helpless of animals in infancy; for he has to be 
taught to eat, to speak, and to walk. 

Aristotle concludes there " are between man and animals 
faculties in common, near and analogous." He ascribes to the 
elephant the character of being the most teachable and tama- 
ble: but he adds, "one sole animal, man, can reflect and 
deliberate." 

Flourens contends that there is a direct opposition between 
instinct and intelligence, the former being blind, necessary, 
and invariable, while the latter is elective, conditional, and 
changeable. Horses learn to obey man, and understand some 
of his words; this intelligence, in a qualified sense, is the 



THE MUTE CREATION. 481 

result of experience and instruction or training. Monkeys 
and cats are taught to drink tea, elephants to fii-e pistols, don- 
ke3's and pigs to find cards or numbers. If brutes are not 
invested with reasoning powers — though Plutarch, Montaigne, 
and others have sought to establish the fact — something very 
analogous to this they seem to possess ; indeed, it is difficult to 
account for the proofs of sagacity and intelligence which in 
some instances they evince, on any other hypothesis. Thus 
serpents are said to obey the voice of their masters ; the trum- 
peter-bird follows us owner like a spaniel ; and the jacana acts 
as a guard to poultry, preserving them in the fields from birds 
of prey, and escorting them home regularly at night. 

For the better illustration of our subject we shall now 
adduce some illustrative anecdotes ; and, as the dog is a very 
general favorite, we propose, first, thus to exemplify not only 
his superior sagacity but his exemplary fidelity. 

A remarkable illustration of canine sagacity is related by 
Chambers, which is substantially as follows : A gentleman of 
Suffolk, on an excursion with his friend, was attended by a 
Newfoundland dog, which soon became the subject of conver- 
sation. As a test of the animal's sagacity his master put a 
mark upon a shilling, and after showing it to the dog he put 
it under a large stone by the roadside. After riding some 
three miles distant the master made a signal to the dog to 
return and fetch the coin. He turned back, the gentlemen 
rode on and reached home, but to their surprise and disap- 
pointment, the hitherto faithful messenger did not return 
during the day. It afterward appeared that he had gone to 
the place where the shilling was deposited, but the stone being 
too large for him to remove, he had stayed howling at the place, 
till a horseman riding by, attracted by his seeming distress, 
dismounted, removed the stone, and seeing the shilling, put it 
into his pocket. The dog followed the rider some twenty miles, 
31 



482 THE MUTE CREATION. 

remained undisturbed in the room where he supped, and on 
his retiring for the night followed him to his bed, beneath 
which he secreted himself. When fairly asleep the dog made 
for his pantaloons containing his money, and rushed with his 
booty out the window, which, on account of the heat, had been 
left partly open, and thus made his way home. Besides the 
shilling, the gentleman's nether garments contained a purse 
full of money and a watch. These were afterward advertised 
and reclaimed. Sir Walter Scott tells us, among other anecdotes 
of the kind, of a dog called Dandle^ that seemed to know 
much that was said in his presence. On a certain night his 
master, returning home later than usual, found the family had 
retired to bed ; and not finding the boot-jack in its usual place 
he said to his dog, "Dandie, I cannot find my boot-jack; 
search for it." The dog, quite sensible of what was spoken, 
scratched at the room door, which his master opened, pro- 
ceeded to a distant part of the house, and soon returned carry- 
ing in his mouth the boot-jack, which his master had left that 
morning under the sofa. 

In a village near Caen, Normandy, lived in domestic dis- 
quiet an ill-assorted couple : and one day the husband, with 
evil intent, took his refractory spouse for a walk, and seeing a 
sparkling stream near at hand, he affected thirst and stooped 
down to drink, and then induced his " better half " to do the 
same. Which, no sooner had she done, than he tried to push 
her into the river, when she would have been drowned bad it 
not been for the prompt assistance of her faithful dog. The 
noble animal seized the assassin by the throat and would not 
relinquish his hold, thus saving the life of his mistress. 

We have all heard of the famous dogs of St. Bernard, and 
of their marvellous exploits in the rescue of Alpine travellers 
when overtaken with the snow-storm. Early in the present 
century one of these noble creatures was decorated with a 



THE MUTE CREATION. 483 

medal in reward for having saved the lives of no less than 
twenty-two snow-bound tourists. So keen is the sense of 
smell possessed by these dogs, that although a perishing man 
lie beneath a snow-drift to the depth of several feet, they will 
detect the spot, scrape away the snow with their feet, make a 
howling that will be heard at a great distance, and exert them- 
selves to the utmost in his behalf. An anecdote is told of one 
of these dogs that found a child whose mother had just been 
destroyed by an avalanche ; the child, alive and unhurt, was in 
some way induced to get upon the dog's back, and was thus 
safely conveyed to the Hospice. 

The aptitude of the Newfoundland dog to take to the water 
and rescue drowning persons is no less proverbial. We shall 
give but an instance or two. A person while bathing at 
Portsmouth was seized with cramp and struggling for his life. 
A Newfoundland dog on the dock, seeing the man sinking, 
plunged into the water and saved his life, while two boatmen 
were debating about what was to be done. 

Take another incident of a more recent date. Two children 
were playing on the banks of a canal near Pimlico, London ; 
the younger of them fell into the water and the elder plunged 
in with the hope of saving him. Both sank; and just at the 
moment a Newfoundland dog was looking on, and rushing to 
the rescue, he soon brought up one and then the other safe to 
shore. The happy father gave a dinner-party in commemora- 
tion of the event, at which the noble dog was a specially-invited 
guest ! 

At Mecklenburgh some years since a traveller witnessed the 
following: After dinner the landlord of the inn placed on 
the floor a large dish of soup and gave a loud whistle. Im- 
mediately there came into the room a mastiff, an Angora cat, 
an old raven, and a remarkably large rat with a bell about its 
neck. They all four went to the dish, and, without disturbing 



484 THE MUTE CREATION. 

each other, fed together ; after which the three reclined on the 
rug, the raven hopping among them. 

Dogs may be treated <:?<9^matically or cursorily, as the case 
may demand. Dogs are of various orders, — " both puppy, mon- 
grel, whelp, and hound, and curs of low degree." Some ani- 
mals are styled "lucky dogs," some "jolly dogs," and some 
again are " literary dogs," and deal in doggerel ditties, or dog- 
latin. Some are also unprincipled dogs ; Goldsmith speaks of 
a dog, which, to gain some private ends, went mad and bit the 
man " ! 

Although we cannot find any explanation of the fact, yet it 
exists, that our dumb neighbors — the dogs — have a method of 
makino; themselves understood to each other. Otherwise what 
are we to say to the two following instances : A gentleman who 
was occasionally in the habit of visiting London from a distant 
county performed the journey on horseback, accompanied by 
a favorite little terrier dog, which he left at an inn at some dis- 
tance from London, until his return. On one occasion, on 
calling for his dog, the landlady told him that it was lost, for it 
had a fierce encounter with a large house-dog, and was sadly 
worsted in the fight, so that it was supposed he had gone away 
and died. After a few days he again made his appearance, 
accompanied witli another dog, bigger than his enemy, on 
whom they both made such an attack that he was nearly killed. 

Here is another illustration : There was a little spaniel which 
had been found lame by a surgeon at Leeds, who carried the 
poor animal home, bandaged up his leg, and after three days 
sent him away. The dog returned to the surgeon's house every 
morning till his leg was perfectly well. Several months after- 
ward the spaniel again presented himself, in company with 
another dog, which had also been lamed ; and he intimated, as 
well as piteous and intelligent looks could intimate, that he 
desired the surgeon's good offices for his friend. 



THE MUTE CREATION. 485 

There is a story told of a person who, being desirous of get- 
ting rid of his dog, took it along with him in a boat, and 
rowing out into the river Seine, threw it overboard. The poor 
animal repeatedly struggled to regain the boat, but was as 
often beaten off ; till at length, in the attempts tobafSe the efforts 
of the dog, the man upset the boat, and he fell into the water. 
No sooner, however, did the generous brute see his master 
struggle in the stream than he forsook the boat, and held 
him above water till assistance arrived, and thus saved his life. 
Was not this dog morally superior to his owner in thus return- 
ing good for evil ? Here is another example of generosity : 
A favorite house-dog, left to the care of its master's servants, at 
Edinburgh, while he was himself in the country, would have 
been starved by them had it not had recourse to the kitchen of 
a friend of its master's, which it occasionally visited. Not con- 
tent with indulging himself simply in this streak of good- 
fortune, this liberally-minded animal, a few days subsequently, 
falling in with a poor solitary duck, and possibly deeming it to 
be in destitute circumstances, caught it up in his teeth and 
carried it to the well-stored larder that had so amply supplied 
his own necessities. He laid the duck at the cook's feet, with 
many polite movements of his tail — that most expressive of 
canine features — then scampered off, with much seeming com- 
placency at having given his hostess this substantial proof of 
his grateful sense of favors received. 

Our illustrations of canine instinct or intelligence would be 
incomplete were we to omit the following : A gentleman was 
missed in London, and was supposed to have met with some 
foul play. No clue could be obtained to the mystery till it 
was gained from observing that his dog continued to crouch 
down before a certain house. The animal would not be induced 
to leave the spot, and it was at length inferred that he might 
be waiting for his master. The house, hitherto above suspicion^ 



4:86 THE MUTE CREATION. 

was searched, and the result was the discovery of the body of 
the missing individual,' who had been murdered. 

Cats, categorically considered, present some curious char- 
acteristics, as distinct from those of dogs ; they are often 
treacherous and sly ; whereas dogs are demonstrative, out- 
spoken, and frank in disposition and character. Cats are 
not overdone with brain power ; dogs are sagacious and intel- 
ligent. Dogs, civilized dogs, evince surprising attachment to 
their masters; cats, on the contrary, are attached to places 
rather than persons. The balance of the virtues, we think, 
will be found against the feline and in favor of the canine. 

Some dogs, indeed, have acquired a kind of literary cele- 
brity from having been the favorites of distinguished men : 
Scott had his, so had Byron, and Lord Eldon actually pensioned 
his favorite poodle. Thus much, then, concerning cats and 
curs : and possibly the reader will con-cur with our conclusions ? 
There used to be seen in London streets what was called the 
" Happy Family," a curious collection of domesticated animals 
and birds, among which Pussy figured conspicuously in the 
centre of the cage, with becoming gravity, while canaries and 
other singing birds perched upon her back, and mice, rats, 
rabbits, and other creatures were all mingled together in perfect 
harmony — all their natural antipathies seemingly annihilated 
by educational training. Cats, after all that may be alleged 
against them or their claws, have yet been celebrated in books. 
"We have the charming story of " Puss in Boots," and the fairy 
tale of " Whittington and his Cat." Then there is the legend 
of the hapless " Kilkenny Cats." Besides, Egyptians em- 
balmed and Chinese ate cats. 

Of all the curious institutions of charity ever heard of, is the 
cat asylum at Aleppo, which is attached to one of the mosques 
there, and was founded by a misanthropic old Turk, who, 
being possessed of large granaries, was much annoyed by rats 



THE MUTE CREATION. 487 

and mice, to rid himself of which he employed a legion of cats ; 
they rendered such effective service against his assailants, that 
it is said, he left an endowed asylum for sickly and destitute 
cats. 

Puss has yet somehow got mixed up with witches and 
wizards, with ghosts and goblins ; moreover she is charged with 
terrible crimes, such as sucking the breath out of babies, and 
other horrible things. But who would believe such charges, to 
look at her sleek and sober face, and green, glassy eyes ? 

More dainty and delicate are pussy's tastes and manners than 
those of dogs ; and they are, therefore, preferred and admitted 
to the companionship of maiden ladies and elderly spinsters. 
Cowper, the pensive poet, had a penchant for Pussy, as well as 
hares and rabbits ; and Petrarch was so fond of the animal, 
that on the death of his cat he had it embalmed. Johnson, 
" Ursus Major " though he has been styled, had his feline favor- 
ite, and such was his fondness for her, that when on one occa- 
sion she fell ill, he administered personally to her wants, feed- 
ing her upon a dish of oysters for sever?J days. 

Instances of personal attachment of the cat are on record ; 
one of these is the following: A lady residing in France 
had a favorite which constantly lay at her feet, seemingly 
always ready to defend her. It never molested the birds 
which its mistress kept ; it would not even take food from any 
person but herself. At the lady's death the cat was removed 
from her chamber, but it made its way there again the next 
morning, and kept pacing about the room, crying most pite- 
ously, as if lamenting its mistress. After the funeral it was 
found stretched on her grave, apparently having died from ex- 
cess of grief. The following anecdote of combined attach- 
ment and sagacity rivals anything that has been told even of 
the dog : " In the summer of 1800 a physician of Lyons was 
requested to inquire into a murder that had been committed on 



488 THE MUTE CREATION. 

a woman of that city. He accordingly went to the residence 
of the deceased, where he found her extended lifeless on the 
floor and weltering in her blood. A large white cat was 
mounted on the cornice of a cupboard ; there he sat motion- 
less, with his eyes fixed on the corpse. There he continued 
till the following day, when the room was filled with the 
officers of justice; and as soon as the suspected persons were 
brought in, the cat's eyes glared with increased fury, his hair 
bristled, and he darted into the middle of the room, where he 
stopped for a moment to gaze at them, and then precipitately 
retreated. The countenances of the assassins were discon- 
certed, and they now, for the first time, . during the whole 
course of the horrid business, felt their atrocious audacity for- 
sake them." * 

Cats difter as much in character as human beings do ; and 
like human beings, their character is very much to be predi- 
cated from their countenances. Southey, in his " Doctor," 
gives a curious chapter upon the cats of his acquaintance — a 
chapter in which humor and natural history are agreeably min- 
gled together ; he was evidently a close observer of the habits 
of poor puss, and took much delight in the whims, frolics, and 
peculiarities of his favorites. 

The elephant, unwieldly and uncouth as he seems, pre- 
sents some remarkable features of character, combining the 
fidelity of the dog, the endurance of the camel, and the 
docility of the horse, with singular sagacity, prudence, and 
courage. 

In one of the accounts of Indian warfare, a body of artillery 
was described as proceeding up a hill, and the great strength 
of elephants was found highly advantageous in drawing up the 
guns. On the carriage of one of these guns, a little in fi'ont of 

* Chambera' Miscellany. 



THE MUTE CREATION. 489 

the wheels, sat an artillery man, resting himself. An elephant, 
drawing another gun, was advancing in regular order close be- 
hind. Whether from falling asleep, or over-fatigue, the man 
fell fi'om his seat, and the wheel of the gun-carriage, with its 
heavy gun, was just rolling over him. The elephant, compre- 
hending the danger, and seeing that he could not reach the 
body of the man with his trunk, seized the wheel by the top, 
and, lifting it up, passed it carefully over the fallen man, and 
set it down on the other side. An Oriental traveller furnishes 
some amusing incidents respecting the docility and sagacious- 
ness of this monstrous creature. In his journeys, he says, if he 
wished to stop to admire a beautiful prospect, the animal re- 
mained immovable until his sketch was finished ; if he wished 
for mangoes growing out of his reach, this faithful servant 
selected the most fruitful branch, and, breaking it off with his 
trunk for him, accepted very thankfully of any part for him- 
self, respectfully and politely acknowledging the compliment 
by raising his trunk three times above his head, in the manner 
of Oriental obeisance. Docile as he is, this noble quadruped 
seems conscious of his superior strength over the rest of the 
brute creation. 

Take yet another example of the shrewd wit of this colossal 
creature. Some men were teasing an elephant they were con- 
veying across a river. In the boat that was towed alongside 
they had a dog which began to torment it by pulling its ears. 
The elephant was resolved to resent the impertinence, and 
what do you suppose was her expedient ? She filled her pro- 
boscis with water, and then deluged the whole party. At fii'st 
the men laughed at the manoeuvre, but she persisted until they 
were compelled to bale to keep from sinking ; when seeing 
this she redoubled her efforts, and it is said she certainly 
would have swamped the boat had the passage across been 
prolonged a few minutes further. Thus much — althougb 



490 THE MUTE CREATION. 

much more might be presented — in behalf of the noble quali- 
ties of the elephant. 

We have heard and read about " learned pigs ; " but as their 
physiognomical development does not indicate much in that 
direction, and further, as their habits are untidy, we shall not 
introduce the parties to our readers. 

The love of fun seems to be inherent with the monkey tribe. 
Dr. Guthrie relates the following amusing anecdote: Jack, 
as he was called, seeing his master and some companions 
drinking, with those imitative powers for which his species is 
remarkable, finding half a glass of whiskey left, took it up and 
drank it off. It flew, of course, to his head. Amid their loud 
roars of laughter he began to skip, hop, and dance. Jack 
was drunk. Next day, when they went, with the intention of 
repeating the fun, to take the poor monkey from his box, he 
was not to be seen. Looking inside, there he lay, crouching 
in a corner. ' Come out ! ' said his master. Afraid to disobey, 
he came, walking on three legs — the fore-paw that was laid 
on his forehead saying, as plain as words could do, that he 
had a headache. Having left him some days to get well and 
resume his gayety, they at length carried him off to the old 
scene of revel. On entering, he eyed the glasses with manifest 
terror, skulking behind the chair ; and on his master ordering 
him to drink, he bolted, and he was on the house-top in a 
twinkling. They called him down. He would not come. 
His master shook the whip at him. Jack, astride on the 
ridge-pole, grinned defiance. A gun, of which he was always 
much afraid, was pointed at this disciple of temperance ; he 
ducked his head and slipped over to the back of the house ; 
upon which, seeing his predicament, and less afraid apparently 
of the fire than the fire-water, the monkey leaped at a bound 
on the chimney-top, and, getting down into a flue, held on by 
his fore-paws. He would rather be singed than drunk. He 



THE MUTE CREATION. 491 

triumphed, and, although his master kept him for twelve years 
after that, he never could persuade the monkey to taste 
another drop of whiskey." Good temperance monkey that. 

Mrs. Lee, the naturalist, tells us of one belonging to her 
eldest daughter, which seemed to know he could master the 
cliild, " and did not hesitate to bite and scratch her whenever 
she pulled him a little harder than he thought proper. I pun- 
ished him," she adds, "for each offence, yet fed and caressed 
him when good ; by which means I possessed an entire ascend- 
ancy over him." The same writer also gives an interesting 
account of a monkey which a man in Paris had trained to a 
variety of clever tricks. "I met him one day," says she, "sud- 
denly, as he was coming up the drawing-room stairs. He 
made way for me by standing in an angle, and when I said, 
' Good-morning,' took off his cap, and made me a low bow. 
' Are you going away ? ' I asked ; ' where is your passport ? ' 
Upon which he took from the same cap a square piece of paper, 
which he opened and showed to me. His master told him 
my gown was dusty, and he instantly took a small brush 
from his master's pocket, raised the hem of my dress, cleaned 
it, and then did the same for my shoes. He was perfectly 
docile and obedient ; when we gave him something to eat he 
did not cram his pouches with it, but delicately and tidily 
devoured it ; and when we bestowed money on him he imme- 
diately put it into his master's hands." 

A ludicrous story is told of a French monkey, belonging to 
Father Cassabon, who was in the habit of carefully locking 
him up on the Sabbath. The animal, however, made his 
escape one Sunday and contrived to secret himself in a 
crevice behind the priest's pulpit. The church service com- 
menced, and presently a boy was seen by the dominie to laugh 
right in his face ; this unseemly behavior was of course 
frowned upon from the pulpit, and checked by his mother, 



492 THE MUTE CREATION. 

who was seated with him. Soon she caught the infection, and 
indeed it sj)read rapidly throughout the entire congregation, 
notwithstanding the terrible anathemas with which such con- 
duct was visited by the astonished and perplexed parson. 
Finding all eyes directed to the sounding-board over his pul- 
pit, the unfortunate priest looked there, when, to his dismay, 
he saw his irreverent monkey grinning at him, and mimicking 
him to the life. 

Naturalists tell us that the wonderfully minute organization 
of the insect tribes comprises brain, nervous, and glandular 
systems, and that in consequence their instructive intelligence 
is inferred. The ants, for instance, the models of industry and 
ingenuity, afford astonishing intelligence in the construction of 
their cells and the procuring of their food. The bees exhibit 
a yet more surprising example of mimic human life, in their 
gregarious habits and constructive skill, as well as in the social 
friendships and feuds and organized battles ; not to speak of 
the architectural wonders of these animals, so often described, 
nor of the cares of the \vorkers for the little larvae. 

The finny tribes are hidden from our gaze because sub- 
merged ; but thej'^ have instincts, and, for aught we know to 
the contrary, social affections, and skill in the construction of 
their nests. The pike, and especially the cod, are said to be 
easily tamed, and in some instances trained to follow to the 
bank of a river even their human friends. Sir Walter Scott 
being once asked whether fishes possessed less sensibility tlian 
man, said, " it is a delicate question, and one which fishes alone 
would be able to solve." 

Mr. Jesse mentions a parrot which, when pleased, would 
laugh most heartily, and then cry out, " Don't make me laugh 
so : I shall die, I shall die." The bird would also mimic sob- 
bing, and exclaim, " So bad, so bad ; got such a cold." If any 
one hajjpened to cough, he would call out, "What a bad cold ! " 



THE MUTE CREATION. 493 

Take another illustration : Mrs. Lee, in her " Anecdotes," 
states that one day her gardener was struck by the strange con- 
duct of a robin, which the man had often fed. The bird flut- 
tered about him in so strange a manner — now coming close, 
then hurrying away, always in the same direction — that the 
gardener followed its retreating movements. The robhi stopped 
near a flower-pot and fluttered over it in great agitation, A 
nest had been formed there containing several young ones ; and 
close by was discovered a snake, intent doubtless upon making 
a meal of the brood. The man saw the reason of the bird's con - 
duct, and carried off the snake, upon which the redbreast ex- 
pressed its joy by a burst of song and triumphant flutterings. 
The incident carries its own comment : the bird sought protec- 
tion from its foe, and, having succeeded in obtaining it, did 
more than some bipeds do — sang his thanks in return. 

The same authority relates the case of an unprincipled Mag- 
pie, who belonged to a toll-keeper in an English county town ; 
the bird having often heard the words, " gate ahoy," learned to 
pronounce them himself; and finding that his mistress always 
went out to the gate whenever the call was made, he mimicked 
the sound so perfectly that on one occasion he induced her to 
leave her dinner, when the bird instantly flew to the table and 
made free with its dainties. This trick he practised again, but 
he was at length found out in the fraud. It was a clear case 
of obtaining food under false pretences ; yet what an ingenious 
theft it was. 

Even the goose, which is not the accepted symbol of wisdom, 
has been much slandered, if the story related by a recent au- 
thority* be admitted in evidence. " In Germany an aged blind 
woman was led to church every Sunday by a gander, which 
dragged her along, holding her gown in his beak. As soon as 
the old woman was seated in her pew the gander retired to the 

* Menault. 



494: THE MUTE CREATION. 

cliurcli-yard to feed upon the grass, and when the service was 
ended he conducted his mistress to her home ! " 

But it is among the mammalia that we are to look for the 
closest approximation to, and understanding of, the human race. 
Jackson relates an instance of the sagacity of the horse : " The 
animal had been carelessly shod, and probably suffered pain in 
consequence. The creature seems to have been quite aware of 
the proper remedy, for a few days after the shoeing operation 
the farrier was amazed to see the horse approach the door of 
the workshop and hold up the hoof. An inspection soon 
showed the nature of the fault, which being rectified, the ani- 
mal went off satisfied." The clever manner in which this horse 
escaped from its meadow was as follows : having no means of 
unlocking the gate he had actually lifted one end off the hinges 
with his teeth, and was thus able to get through. 

Numerous anecdotes of the fidelity and sagacity of the horse 
are given, one of which we transcribe ; it is as follows : " On 
one occasion a farmer was returning to his home near Edin- 
burgh, from a jovial meeting, where he had been very liberal 
in his potations. After riding some distance on horseback he 
became somewhat drowsy, when he had the misfortune to fall 
from the saddle. His fall was, however, so easy that it did not 
rouse him from his sleepy fit and he felt quite contented to rest 
where he had alighted. His faithful steed, on being eased of 
his burden, instead of scampering home, stood and kept a watch 
all night over his prostrate master, whom some early wayfarers 
discovered next day still sleeping. They attempted to replace 
him on the saddle, but every attempt to come near him was 
resolutely opposed by the grinning teeth and ready heels of his 
faithful and determined guardian." 

Even the donkey is a misunderstood and much injured ani- 
mal, as well as the poor unoffending, innocent sheep ; for both 



THE MUTE CREATION. 495 

have much more intelligence than we are accustomed to sup- 
pose, even though they may not be brilliant, 

A good story is told of the donkey of a Lancashire carrier. 
The master was accustomed to stop at a public house for ale, a 
little of which was always kindly given to his quadruped. Af- 
ter a time the carrier turned teetotaler, but the animal objected 
to the change, for whenever he came to the aforesaid alehouse 
he insisted, as heretofore, in stopping, and no expostulation of 
his master could prevent it. The publican, who held teetotalism 
to be the eighth deadly sin, at length persuaded the good-na- 
tured master actually to purchase the ale now, not to please 
himself, but his ass, as he felt himself responsible to the poor 
brute for first teaching him the evil habit. The ass sank as a 
moralist, but rose as a genius by the force of his will. It was 
an honor, some even thought, to have such a donkey in the 
district. 

The "busy bee" is so familiar to all that it will not be 
necessary for us to refer to its peculiarity of structure, further 
than to state that the worker is invested with an extra stomach, 
which is called the honey-bag, in which it deposits the sweets 
or saccharine matter it collects from blossoms, fruits, and flow- 
ers. " The most profound philosopher, equally with the most 
incurious mortals," says Kirby, " is struck with astonishment 
on inspecting the interior of a bee-hive : he beholds a city in 
miniature. He sees this city divided into regular streets, these 
streets composed of houses constructed on the most exact 
geometrical principles, and the most symmetrical plan — some 
serving for storehouses for food, others for the habitations of 
the citizens, and a few, much more extensive than the rest, 
destined for the palaces of the sovereign. He perceives that 
the substance of which the whole city is built is one which 
man, with all his skill, is unable to fabricate ; and that the 
edifices are such as the most expert artist would find himself 



496 THE MUTE CREATION. 

incompetent to erect : yet the whole is the work of a society of 
mere insects ! " 

A number of honeycombs, composed of cells for the most 
part hexagonal or six-sided, regularly applied to each other's 
sides, and arranged in two strata or layers, placed end to end, 
are fixed to the upper part and sides of the interior of the hive. 
These combs are arranged vertically at a small distance from 
each other, so that the cells composing them are placed in a 
horizontal position, and have their openings in different direc- 
tions. The distance between the combs is about half an inch, 
sufiicient to allow two . bees to pass each other easily : besides 
these vacancies, the combs are here and there pierced with 
holes, which serve as a means of communication from one 
comb to another. 

Many amusing if not extravagant stories are given by 
naturalists respecting the exceeding loyalty of bees to their 
queen ; their passion for monarchy indeed brings them into 
near connection with the ants. The following anecdote will 
illustrate this : " A young girl of my acquaintance," says the 
narrator, " was greatly afraid of bees, and she became com- 
pletely cured of her timidity by the following incident. A 
swarm having come off, I observed the queen alight by herself 
at a little distance from the apiary. I immediately called my 
little friend, that I might show her the queen ; she wished to 
inspect her more closely ; so, having caused her to put on her 
gloves, I gave the queen into her hand. "We were in an in- 
stant surrounded by the whole bees of the swarm. In this 
emergency I encouraged the girl to be steady, bidding her to 
be silent and to fear nothing, and remaining myself close by 
her. I then made her stretch out her right hand, which held 
the queen, and covered her head and shoulders with a very 
thin handkerchief: the swarm soon fixed on her hand, and 
hung from it as from the branch of a tree. The little girl was 



THE liIUTE CREATION. 497 

delighted beyond measure at the novel sight, and so entirely 
freed from all fear, that she bade me uncover her face. The 
spectators were charmed by the interesting spectacle. At 
length I brought a hive, and shaking the swarm from the 
child's hand, it was lodged in safety, and without inflicting a 
single wound." 

The delicate fabric of the spider's web is a miracle of skill ; 
although so fine as to be scarcely visible without the aid of a 
microscope, the spider's thread is nevertheless composed, not of 
a single line, as is usually supposed, but, as we learn from good 
authority, of not less than four thousand strands. And this is 
true with respect to spiders not larger than a grain of sand, as 
well as the largest specimens. The gauze-like texture of the 
web of the house-spider, as well as the beautiful net more com- 
monly found among the foliage, composed of a series of con- 
centric circles, united by radii diverging from the centre, are 
both exquisite specimens of insect skill. 

" Man thinks that he stands unrivalled as an architect, and 
that his productions far transcend the works of the inferior 
order of animals. He would be of a different opinion did he 
attend to the history of insects ; he would find that many of 
them have been architects from time immemorial ; that they 
had their houses divided into various apartments, and contain- 
ing staircases, elegant arches, domes, colonnades, and the like. 
No feminine ornament is more prized and costly than lace, the 
invention and fabrication of which seems the exclusive claim 
of the softer sex. But even here they have been anticipated by 
these little industrious creatures, which often defend their help- 
less chrysalides by a most singular covering — and as beautiful 
as singular — of lace. Other arts have been equally forestalled 
by these insects. We imagine that nothing short of human 
intellect can be equal to the construction of a diving-bell or 
air-pump — yet a spider is in the daily habit of using the one, 
32 



498 THE MUTE CREATION. 

and what is more, one exactly similar in principle to ours, but 
more ingeniously contrived ; by means of which she resides 
unwetted in the bosom of the water, and procures the neces- 
sary supplies of air by a much more simple process than our al- 
ternating buckets — and the caterpillar of a little moth knows 
how to imitate the other, producing a vacuum, when necessary 
for its purposes, without any piston besides its own body. 

" If we think with wonder of the populous cities which have 
employed the united labors of man for many ages to bring 
them to their full extent, what shall we think of the white 
ants, which require only a few months to build a metropolis 
capable of containing an infinitely greater number of inhabit- 
ants than even the imperial Nineveh, Babylon, or Pekin, in 
all their glory?"* 

That insects should thus have forestalled us in our inven- 
tions ought to urge us to pay a closer attention to them and 
their ways than we have hitherto done ; since it is not at all 
improbable that the result would supply useful hints for the 
improvement of our arts and manufactures, and perhaps be 
the clue to some beneficial discoveries. 

Although parrots are excessively amusing in their small 
talk, yet, as they cannot be supposed to be conscious of what 
they say, we can only refer to them here, en passant^ on the 
ground that they bear some seeming analogy, in this respect, 
to some human talkers. Mrs. Lee, in her " Anecdotes of Birds," 
mentions the instance of a parrot that had lost one of its legs, 
and no sooner did any one remark this, or ask how it had been 
lost, than it replied : " I lost my leg in the merchant service ; 
pray remember the lame." 

The following story has often been recited before, but it will 
bear repeating : " A tradesman who had a shop in the Old 

* Kirby. 



THE MUTE CREATION. 499 

Bailey, London, opposite Newgate prison, kept two parrots, a 
green and a gray. The green parrot was taught to speak when 
there was a knock at the street-door ; the gray, whenever the 
bell rang ; but they only knew two short phrases of English. 
The house in which they lived had an old-fashioned, project- 
ing front, so that the first floor could not be seen from the 
pavement on the same side of the way, and, on one occasion, 
they were left outside the window by themselves, when some 
one knocked at the street-door. ' Who is there ? ' said the green 
parrot. ' The man with the leather,' was the reply ; to which 
the bird answered, ' Oh ! oh ! ' The door not being opened, 
the stranger knocked a second time. ' Who is there ? ' said 
green poll. ' Who is there ? ' exclaimed the man. ' Why 
don't you come down ? ' ' Oh, oh ! ' repeated the parrot. 
This so enraged the stranger that he rang the bell furiously. 
' Go to the gate,' said a new voice, which belonged to the gray 
parrot. ' To the gate ? ' repeated the man, who saw no such 
entrance, and who thought that the servants were bantering 
him. ' What gate ? ' he asked, stepping back to view the prem- 
ises. 

"' New-gate,' responded the gray, just as the angry appli- 
cant discovered who had been answering his summons." 

Parrots have been known to mimic the sound of planing a 
deal board, the mewing of a cat, or the barking of a dog, so ac- 
curately as to deceive the closest observers. 

The predilection of animals for particular persons was once 
the means of deciding, very amusingly, a case before a court 
of justice. It was at a Dublin police-office, and the object of 
dispute was a pet parrot which had been stolen from a Mr. 
Davis and sold to a Mr. Moore. The plaintiff, taking the bird 
upon his finger, said, " Come, old boy, give me a kiss," which 
the parrot instantly did. A youth, in the defendant's interest, 
remarked that this proved nothing, as the parrot would kiss 



500 



THE MUTE CREATION. 



anybody. "You had better not try," remarked the plaintiff. 
Nevertheless the young man asked the parrot to kiss him. 
Poll, Judas-like, advanced as if to give the required salute, 
but seized the youth's lip and made him roar with pain. This 
fact, and the parrot's obeying the plaintiff in several other 
requisitions, caused it to be instantly ordered into the posses- 
sion of its original master. 

Here we close our remarks about the winged and walking 
things of earth, whose characteristic developments are so sug- 
gestive of moral instruction to us ; and although the lessons 
they teach are fraught with deepest interest, and cannot but 
reflect a beneficial influence, yet it is to be feared but too 
many are found inaccessible to their power and inaudible to 
their teaching. 




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SLEEP AND ITS MYSTERIES. 

"O sleep ! the certain knot o£ peace, — 

The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe : 
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, 
The impartial judge between the high and low." — Sir P. Sidney. 



What is the phenomenon we call sleep, — that is the ques- 
tion? We ask the physiologist, and he gives us its diagnosis, 
but that is all. Blumenbach attributed it to a diminished flow 
of arterial blood to the brain, but Elliotson, his commentator, 
suggests that this slower circulation is the effect, not the cause 
of sleep. Indeed, although much learned discussion has been 
devoted to the subject, sleep is yet a profound puzzle to us. 



502 SLEEP KNB ITS MYSTERIES. 

Bocrliaave speaks of a German physician or metaphysician 
who held to the drowsy theorj^, that sleep was the natural con- 
dition of man; but his own experience bore witness against 
him, for he is said to have slept himself at last into an 
apoplexy. It is, however, safe to affirm that sleeping and wak- 
ing are the two great phenomena of our existence. It is also 
patent to all that our bodies, like our watches, require winding 
up, or they will run down and stop ! The mainspring of the 
one, however, has to be treated differently to that of the other, 
because its mechanism is differently constructed. In attempt- 
ing a little familiar talk about so soporific as ubject as sleep, 
we must be careful on our part not to put the reader under 
the somnolent influence of the drowsy god Morpheus. " Half 
our days we pass in the shadow of the earth," says Sir Thomas 
Browne, " and the brother of death extracteth a third part of oar 
lives." Rest and activity make up the existence we call life ; 
their alternation is as inexorable a law as that of day and 
night. Our physical system recuperates principally during 
sleep, because then it is that nutrition goes on most actively ; it 
is then also, as the doctors say, that " the brain feeds." Some 
writers call sleep a temporary metaphysical death. Shakespeare 
beautifully says, " Our little life is rounded by a sleep." 
Cervantes piquantly remarks, " It covers a man all over, 
thoughts and all, like a cloak." Saxe adds a stanza : 

' ' ' God bless the man who first invented sleep ! ' 

So Sancho Panza said, and so say I ! 
And bless him also, that he didn't keep 

His great discovery to himself, or try 
To make it — as the lucky fellow might — 

A close monopoly, by 'patent-right.' " 

Sleep, then, being a fixed institution of humanity as well as 
of animals, and, in part at least, of the vegetable kingdom, is, 
like the air we breathe, an indispensable blessing. We are not 



SLEEP A^D ITS MYSTEEIES. 503 

apt to estimate too highly the priceless boon : yet were its 
gentle visitations but intermitted even for a night or two in 
succession, we should be better fitted to form an idea of its 
inestimable value. When wearied with the day's drudgery and 
turmoil, how inexpressibly grateful is it to surrender our- 
selves to its sweet oblivion. The quiet hour of wonted repose 
steals upon us like a charm, and we yield ourselves to its 
mollifying and soothing influence as the universal pf.nacea. It 
has been said that, 

"In perfect sleep there is no consciousness. It has been 
therefore called with truth the image of death. It is a tempo- 
rary death, as far as concerns all action and motion which lie 
under the power of our will. But although the brain is at rest, 
tiie heart and lungs continue their tasks, because they are pre- 
sided over by a department of the nervous system, which acts 
independently of the brain. The brain is the seat of conscious- 
ness, and from it all the nerves which originate and control 
voluntary motions more or less directly take their rise." 

There is also a state of coma, or abnormal sleep ; which is, 
indeed, a preternatural or morbid condition of lethargy, in- 
duced by natural or artificial causes. Collateral with sleep 
may be also mentioned hysteria, trance, catalepsy, syncope, 
paralysis, magnetic sleep, and epilepsy, which last is caused by 
a stoppage of the electric currents centring in the spine. 

If sleep be such an essential restorative to our physical and 
mental systems, how terrible upon criminals must be the tor- 
ture of the Chinese punishment of preventing it. The victim 
is kept awake by guards alternately watching: death super- 
venes, usually, after from twelve to twenty days' endurance. 

The most unfavorable condition for sleep cannot prevent its 
approach. Coachmen slumber on their boxes, and couriers 
on their horses, while soldiers fall asleep on the field of battle, 
amidst all the noise of artillery and the tumult of war. Dur- 



504 SLEEP AND ITS MYSTERIES. 

ilia: the retreat of Sir Joliii Moore several of the British 
soldiers were reported to have fallen asleep on the march, and 
yet they continued walking onward. The most violent pas- 
sions and excitement of mind cannot preserve even powerful 
minds from sleep ; thus Alexander the Great slept on the field 
of Arbela, and Napoleon on that of Austerlitz. Noises, which 
serve at first to drive away sleep, soon become indispensable to 
its existence ; thus a stage-coach stopping to change horses 
wakes all the passengers. The proprietor of an iron forge 
who slept close to the din of hammers, forges, and blast fur- 
naces, would awake if there was any interruption to them during 
the night ; and a sick miller, who had his mill stopped on that 
account, passed sleepless nights till the mill resumed its noise. 

Leigh Hunt furnishes some pleasant thoughts upon the sub- 
ject, from which we cite a passage. " It is a delicious moment, 
certainly," he writes, " that of being well nestled in bed and 
feeling tliat you shall drop gently to sleep. The good is to 
come, not past ; the limbs have just been tired enough to ren- 
der the remaining in one posture delightful ; the labor of the 
day is done. A gentle failure of the perceptions comes creep- 
ing over one ; the spirit of consciousness disengages itself more 
and more, with slow and hushing degrees, like a mother de- 
taching her hand from her sleeping child ; the mind seems to 
have a balmy lid over it, like the eye ; 'tis closing — more clos- 
ing — 'tis closed. The mysterious spirit has gone to make its 
airy rounds. 

" The day emphatically belongs to earth : we yield it with- 
out reluctance to care and labor. AVe toil, we drudge, we 
pant, we play the hack-horse ; we do things smilingly from 
which we recoil in secret ; we pass by sweet spots and rare 
faces that our ver}^ heart yearns for, without betraying the 
effort it costs; and thus we drag through the twelve long 
hours, disgusted almost, but gladdened withal, that the mask 



SLEEP AND ITS SrZSTERIES. 505 

will have an end, and the tedious game be over, and onr visor 
and our weapons be laid aside. But the night is the gift of 
heaven; it brings freedom and repose; its influence falls 
coolly and gratefully upon the mind as well as the body ; and 
when drops the extinguisher upon the light which glimmers 
upon the round, untouched pillow, we, at the same time, put 
out a world of cares and perplexities." 

But for this wonted repose how monotonous and wearisome 
would life become ; not man alone, but all nature would begin 
to faint and die, like the seared foliage of autumn. This ne- 
cessity for periodical repose seems to be an essential law of all 
animated life, with scarce a single exception. The feathered 
tribe cease their minstrelsy as the shades of eventide spread 
over the face of all things — a type of sleep itself with its closed 
eyelids. All seek their needed rest. 

Instances on record of protracted sleep are both numerous 
and interesting ; but we can notice one or two only. It is 
stated in the records of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, that 
" a woman slept continuously from the first of July until the 
eighth of August. During the first seven days she continued 
motionless, and exhibited no inclination to eat ; after which 
time she would move her hand to her mouth, signifying a wish 
for food, which was given to her. She evinced no symptom of 
hearing till about four days prior to her recovery. During 
tliis long interval of nearly forty days and nights, she contin- 
ued in a state of unconsciousness." In the somnolent state, 
life can be sustained by a small portion of food. 

" In the middle of the last century a young Frenchwoman, at 
Toulouse, had, for half a year, fits of lengthened sleep, varying 
from three to thirteen days each. About the same time, a girl 
at Newcastle-on-Tyne slept fourteen weeks without waking; 
and the waking process occupied three days to complete. Doc- 
tor Blanchet, of Paris, mentions the case of a lady who slept for 



506 SLEEP AND ITS MYSTERIES. 

twenty days together wlien she was about eighteen years of age, 
fifty days when she was about twenty, and had nearly a whole 
year's sleep, from Easter Sunday, 1862, till March, 1863 ; during 
this long sleep (which physicians call hysteric coma) she was 
fed with milk and soup, one of her front teeth being extracted 
to obtain an opening into her mouth. 

Cognate with sleep is the phenomenon we call dreams. Phy- 
sics and metaphysics, psychology and other occult sciences, have 
been appealed to for a solution of the mystery, but in vain. 
Dreams cannot be called echoes of our waking-thoughts, be- 
cause they do not reflect them with any uniformity ; indeed it is 
but rarely they do so. Dreams seem to be sometimes engen- 
dered of a disturbed digestion and also of a morbid state of 
mental excitement. "We do not know much more than the an- 
cients about dreams ; although such multitudes have been in 
dreamland, is it not strange that it yet remains a terra incog- 
nita f Physiologists now incline to the theory that all dream, 
and dream at all times throughout their sleep ; which has been 
heretofore a debatable point with the doctors. Few, however, 
remember their dreams, if they do always dream in sleep. Of 
the class of dreams suggested by previous mental preoccupa- 
tion, there are many recorded incidents. It is undeniable that 
some men have been smarter when they were asleep than when 
they were awake. Chess-players, metaphysicians, and mathe- 
maticians often dream to good purpose. Sir Thomas Browne 
confesses that he could grapple with metaphysical difficulties 
better in his dreams than in his waking hours. Napier is said 
to have dreamed out the science of logarithms. 

There seem to be a mystery and fascination connected with 
the subject, from the fact that dreams are involuntary and in 
some instances are prophetic of evil or good fortune. Then, 
again the strange incongruities which characterize most dreams 
— memory and imagination mingling their wildest flights iu 



SLEEP AND ITS IIYSTERIES. 507 

defiance of reason and common sense. On the other hand some, 
like Coleridge, have had remarJiably intellectual dreams ; his 
gorgeous poem of Kubla Khan for example. Sartini, a cele- 
brated violinist, composed one of his famous sonatas in a dream. 
Condorcet, having once left his calculations in an unfinished 
state, took up the thread of them in a dream, and finished them. 
It is in the nocturnal hours of sleep that conscience some- 
times holds her court of inquest upon crime. " The Furies still 
follow Orestes ; " and where the culprit has escaped convic- 
tion at a human tribunal, conscience has occasionally become 
his accuser to bring him to judgment. 

Visions nocturnal have been the divinely appointed media of 
communication in the patriarchal age, and it was doubtless 
owing to these real events that a superstitious veneration for 
dreams has obtained in all times among the nations of the 
world. Many surprising instances of prophetic dreams and 
premonitions have been collected by writers, which tend to keep 
alive a belief in their supernatural origin. 

Dr. Abercrombie says he is enabled to give the following 
anecdote as entirely authentic : " A lady dreamed that an aged 
female relative had been mm-dered by a black servant, and the 
dream occurred more than once. She was then so strangely 
impressed by it that she went to the house of the lady to whom 
it related, and prevailed upon a gentleman to watch in an ad- 
joining room the following night. About three o'clock in the 
morning, the gentleman, hearing footsteps on the stairs, left 
his place of concealment, and met the servant carrying up a 
quantity of coals. Being questioned as to where he was going, 
he replied, in a confused manner, that he was going to mend his 
mistress' fire, which, at three o'clock in the morning, in the 
middle of summer, was evidently impossible ; and, on further 
investigation, a strong knife was found concealed beneath the 
coals." " Another lady," he says, " dreamed that a boy, her 



508 SLEEP AND ITS 5IYSTERIES. 

nephew, had been drowned along with some young companions 
with whom he had been engaged to go on a sailing excursion 
in the Frith of Forth. She sent for him in the morning, and 
prevailed on him to give up his engagement. His companions 
went and w^ere all drowned." 

The alarm with regard to the disappearance of Maria Martin 
was brought to its height by the mother dreaming, three suc- 
cessive nights, that her daughter had been murdered and 
buried in the Red Barn. Upon this, search was made, the 
floor taken up, and the murdered body discovered. The story 
is fully related in Chambers'^ Journal for 1832. 

That many remarkable and well-attested dreams have been 
reconcilable to after events, is beyond question — niglit visions 
and night promptings which could not be explained by any 
theory of connection of ideas, or " imperfect recollections," or 
revival of associations utterly forgotten by the waking senses. 
On the contrary, new images have been evolved in slumber, 
apparently pointing toward future events, or seeming to con- 
vey awful w^arnings against unsuspected dangers, or suggesting 
remedies for evils long endured ; and numerous are the cases 
wherein results have been in unison with the supposed augury. 

But it is not so much in reference to the causes and general 
nature of dreams, as to their supposed power of divination, that 
a few words are devoted to them in the present pages. " We 
know, pretty well now," says 'Horace Walpole, in one of his 
letters, " that dreams which used to pass for predictions are 
imperfect recollections." Be this as it may, the oneirocritics, 
when baffled in their attempts to establish any similitude 
between the " auguries " of sleep and subsequent or preceding 
facts, turn about, and vindicate the pi-ophetic character of 
dreams by dissimilitude and contrariety. Thus, they are 
certain to be right, one way or the other. 

A gravestone-cutter of Wakefield, in Yorkshire, desiring to 



SLEEP AKD ITS MYSTERIES. 509 

finish the epitaph on a certain tombstone, left his home one 
evening for the church, in which he was permitted occasionally 
to work. Having arrived there, he set down his lantern, and 
lighting another candle, resumed his rather gloomy task. 
Midnight approached, and still his work was not completed. 
On a sudden, a strange noise, as of the utterance of " hiss ! " 
or " hush ! " startled him. He looked round, but nothing was 
seen— not even a bat, or owl flitting athwart the upper dark- 
ness. 

Kecovering from his surprise, Peter concluded he had been 
deceived, and plied his chisel with fresh vigor. In a few 
minutes, however, the ominous word was again audible. He 
once more searched, but in vain, for the cause of so uncommon 
a sound ; and, being at length terrified, was about to quit 
the church when a sense of duty withheld him, and he renewed 
his work, which was completed as the clock struck twelve. 
"While, with downcast head, intently examining the epitaph he 
had cut, the dreadful word, " hush ! " came louder than ever 
on his ear. Peter was now fairly appalled. He concluded 
that he himself was summoned to the grave — that in fact he 
had been carving his own " Hic Jacet." Tottering home he 
went to bed, but could not sleep. 

Next morning his wife, happening to observe his wig, ex- 
claimed, " O, Peter ! what hast thou been doing to burn all tlie 
hair off one side of thy wig ? " 

" Ah, God bless thee ! " vociferated the stone- cutter, jumping 
out of bed ; " thou hast cured me with that word." 

The mysterious midnight sound was occasioned by the friz- 
zling of Peter's wig, as it accidentally came in contact with the 
candle, while he bent over his work ; and the discovery thus 
made afforded many a jest and laugh." * 

* " Hone's Year-Book." 



510 SLEEP AND ITS MYSTERIES. 

Somnambulism appears to differ from dreaming chiefly in 
the degree in which the bodily functions are affected ; in the 
former the will seems to control the body, and its organs are 
more susceptible of the mental impressions. The incipient 
form of somnambulism shows itself in talking in sleep : this is 
sometimes a dangerous disease, as occasionally the most impor- 
tant secrets are, by the very party himself, involuntarily revealed 
— which in his waking moments he would reserve with 
especial care. The second stage of the phenomenon, from 
which indeed it derives its name, is that of walking during 
sleep. ^Numerous remarkable instances of sleep-walking are to 
be met with ; one of the most singular of which we remember 
to have read, years ago, was that of a certain restless youth, 
who, so impetuous was he to obey the impulse of his noctur- 
nal vision, rushed from his bed to the street, clad only in the 
usual drapery of the dormitory, and was found pursuing his 
route in the London streets at midnight, till some humane 
guardian of a policeman startled him from his state of dreamy 
complacency, and remonstrated with him as to the paucity of 
his apparel, etc. 

Dr. Blacklock, the blind poet, on one occasion, arose fi'om 
his bed, to which he had retired at an early hour, came into 
the room where his family were assembled, conversed with 
them, and afterward entertained them with a pleasant song ; 
after he awoke he had not the least knowledge or recollection 
of what he had done. 

Two instances of sleep-swimming might be mentioned. " I 
went out," says Franklin, " to bathe in Martin's salt-water hot- 
bath, in Southampton, and, floating on my back, fell asleep, 
nearly an hour by my watch, without sinking or turning — a 
thing I never did before, and should hardly have thought 
possible." A man was disporting himself in the water about a 
hundi-ed yards from the shore ; he was discovered by the 



SLEEP AND ITS JIYSTERIES. 511 

watchmen at two o'clock in the morning. The revenue boat's 
crew pushed off and succeeded in rescuing him : but, strange 
to say, he had no idea of his perilous situation, and it was a 
hard matter to persuade him that he was not in his bed. The 
man had left his home at midnight, and walked through a 
difficult and to him dangerous road over two miles, and had 
actually swam more than a mile before he was picked up.* 

Dr. Abercrombie relates some curious instances of persons 
having performed literary exploits during a state of somnolency ; 
among others he speaks of a certain member of a foreign uni- 
versity, who, after having devoted himself during his waking 
hours to the composition of some verses, which, however, he 
had not been able to complete, seems to have been honored 
with more success in a visitation from his muse during his 
nocturnal slumbers ; for the following night he arose in his 
sleep, finished his poetic performance, and exulting in his suc- 
cess returned again contentedly to his couch — all in a state of 
unconsciousness. 

Take another case, from the same source : it is one even 
more remarkable — and we might add a tax upon credulity 
were it not given by so respectable an authority. It is that of a 
young botanical student who resided at the house of his profes- 
sor in London, and who was zealously devoted to his pursuit, 
having indeed just received the highest botanical prize from 
a public institution. One night, about an hour after he had 
gone to bed, having returned from a long botanical excursion, 
his master, who was sitting in his room below, heard a person 
coming down stairs with a heavy measured step, and on going 
into the passage found his pupil with nothing on him but his 
hat and his shirt, his tin case swung across his shoulders, and a 
large stick in his hand. " His eyes were even more open than 

* Macnish. 



512 SLEEP AND ITS MYSTERIES. 

usual," says the narrator, " but I observed he never directed 
them to me or to the candle which I held. While I was con- 
templating the best method of getting him to bed again, he 
commenced the following dialogue : ' Are you going to Green- 
wich, sir?' ' Yes, sir.' ' Going by water, sir ? ' ' Yes, sir.' ' May 
I go with you, sir ? ' ' Yes, sir ; but I am going directly, there- 
fore please to follow me.' Upon this I walked up to his room, 
and he followed me without the least error in stepping up the 
stairs. At the side of his bed, I begged he would get into the 
boat, as I must be off immediately. I then removed the tin 
case from his shoulders, his hat dropped off, and he got into 
bed, observing, ' he knew my face very well — he had often 
seen me at the river's side.' A long conversation then ensued 
between him and the supposed boatman, in which he understood 
all that was said to him, and answered quite correctly respect- 
ing botanical excursions to Greenwich made by the professor 
and his pupils ; and named a rare plant he had lately had, of 
which the superintendent of the botanic garden had seen only 
one specimen in his .life, and the professor only two. After 
some further conversation, he was asked whether he knew who 
had gained the highest botanical prize ; when he named a 
gentleman, but did not name himself. ' Indeed,' was the re- 
ply, ' did he gain the highest prize ? ' To this he made no answer. 

He was then asked, ' Do you know Mr. ,' naming himself. 

After much hesitation he replied, ' If I must confess it, my name 

is .' This conversation lasted three-quarters of an hour, 

during which time he never made an irrelevant answer, and 
never hesitated, excepting about the prize and his own name. 
He then lay down in bed, saying ' he was tired, and would lie 
upon the grass till the prof essor came ; ' but he soon sat up again 
and held a long conversation with another gentleman who then 
came into the room ; when he again understood everything 
that was said t :> him, to which he answered no less readily and 



SLEEP AND ITS MYSTERIES. 513 

accurately, sometimes uttering long sentences without tlie least 
hesitation. After a conversation of about an hour, he said, ' It 
is very cold on this grass, but I am so tired I must lie down.^ 
lie soon after laid down and remained quiet during the rest of 
the night. Next morning he had not the least knowledge of 
what had passed, and was not even aware of having dreamed of 
anything whatever." 

Psychologists tell us that somnambulism is " a condition in 
which certain senses and faculties are suppressed, or rendered 
thoroughly impassive, while others prevail in most unwonted 
exaltation." 

The phenomenon resembles in. part what sometimes occurs in 
reading ; when we continue reading with our mind diverted 
to some other subject. All cases of absence of mind belong to 
this category. It is the opinion of some writers that the brain 
cannot entertain two distinct ideas simultaneously : it cannot 
think and determine at the same moment of time. 

Those somnambulists who wander about in streets, or (like 
Amina, in Bellini's opera) walk along narrow planks in peril- 
ous situations, have the nmscular sense, whatever it may be,, 
effectively awake. The sense of fear is asleep, whatever els©' 
may be awake. Some somnambulists start off while asleep to 
attend to their regular work, though under very irregular cir- 
cumstances. There was a rope-maker in Germany who often 
fell asleep when at work, and either continued his work in a 
proper way, or uselessly re-made cordage already finished. 
Sometimes when walking long distances he was similarly over- 
taken with sleep; he went on safely, avoiding horses and 
carriages, and timber lying in the road. On one occasion he 
fell asleep just as he got on horseback ; yet he went on, 
rode through a shallow river, allowed his horse to drink, drew 
ap his legs to prevent his feet from being wetted, passed 
iirongh a crowded market-place, and arrived safely at the 
33 



514 SLEEP AND ITS MYSTERIES. 

house of an acquaintance ; his eyes were closed the whole time, 
and he awoke just after reaching the house. 

Some of our readers may not be familiar with the legend of 
the beautiful opera La Sonnamhula, and as our artist has 
portrayed the heroine of the story, we present a brief outline 
of the plot. 

A certain nobleman visiting his estates in Switzerland, but 
unrecognized by the peasantry, stoj)ped at an inn where he was 
told that a ghost haunted the house nightly, to the terror of the 
villagers. Retiring to the room prepared for him, about mid- 
night he is startled by the somnambulist Amina, a village-maiden 
who is betrothed to Elvino ; she enters his room in her night- 
dress, and is discovered by the peasantry, to the detriment of 
her reputation and the dismay of her lover. The following 
night, however, the mystery is explained — when Amina is seen 
to repeat her nocturnal visit at the inn, emerge from it with 
her candle in hand, and pursue her way over a dilapidated and 
deserted bridge at the imminent risk of her life. The bridge 
breaks down, but she makes a miraculous leap over the chasm, 
and the intense fright awakening her, tlie erratic wanderings 
of the maiden are at once accounted for. The lovers are then 
married, the nobleman gives the dowry, and the village is again 
restored to its wonted peace and happiness. 

In Poyntz's World of Wonders, we find, among other 
remarkable citations, the following instance recorded of an 
accomplished somnambulist, the circumstances of which are 
attested by a beneficed member of the Roman Catholic Clhurch : 
' In the college where he was educated was a young seminarist 
who habitually walked in his sleep, and while in a state of 
somnambulism used to sit down to his desk and compose the 
most eloquent sermons ; scrupulously erasing, effacing, or inter- 
lining, whenever an incorrect expression had fallen from his 
pen. Though his eyes were apparently fixed upon the paper 



SLEEP AND ITS MYSTEEIES. 515 

when he wrote, it was clear that they exercised no optical 
functions ; for he wrote just as well when an opaque sub- 
stance was interposed between them and the sheet of paper. 
Sometimes an attempt was made to remove the paper, in the 
idea that he would write upon the. desk beneath. But it was 
observed that he instantly discerned the change, and sought 
another sheet of paper as nearly as possible resembling the 
former one. At other times a blank sheet of paper was substi- 
tuted by the bystanders for the one on which he had been 
writing ; in which case, on reading over, as it were, his compo- 
sition, he was sure to place the corrections, suggested by the 
perusal, at precisely the same intervals they would have oc- 
cupied in the original sheet of manuscript. This young priest, 
moreover, was an able musician ; and was seen to compose 
several pieces of music while in a state of somnambulism, 
drawing the lines of the music-paper for the purpose with a 
ruler, and pen and ink, and filling the spaces with his notes 
with the utmost precision, besides a careful adaptation of the 
words in vocal pieces. On one occasion the somnambulist 
dreamed that he sprang into the river to save a drowning child ; 
and on his bed he was seen to imitate the movement of swim- 
ming. Seizing the pillow, he appeared to snatch it from the 
waves and lay it on the shore. The night was intensely cold ; 
and so severely did he appear affected by the imaginary chill 
of the river as to tremble in every limb ; and his state of cold 
and exhaustion, when roused, was so alarming, that it was 
judged necessary to administer wine and other restoratives." 

A case is related of a woman in Edinburgh Infirmary, who 
during her paroxysms not only mimicked the manner of her 
medical attendants, but repeated correctly some of their pre- 
scriptions in Latin. A yet more singular instance of the kind 
is on record, described by Dr. Dyce, of Aberdeen, namely, that 
of a young girl subject to fits of somnolency, during which she 



516 SLEEP AND ITS IVIYSTERIES. 

was in the habit of talking of things that seemed to pass be- 
fore her like a dream, and was not at the time sensible of any- 
thing that was said to her. At one time she would lay out 
the table for breakfast, and repeatedly dress herself and the 
children, all the while being in a state of unconsciousness. 

The memory plays some strange tricks with sleep-walkers. 
A military officer, after a hard day of much marching and 
little eating, was told that there would be some hot soup ready 
at midnight ; he threw himself down to rest, requesting to be 
called at the supper hour ; next morning he knew nothing of 
the fact that he had really been called, and had really had his 
share of the soup. The two portions of sleep had been welded 
together in his mind, and he was not conscious of the interval 
that had separated them. Doctor Abercrombie notices the 
case of a woman who carried on a somnambulistic conversation 
in a remarkable way. She would, when asleep, relate events 
of the preceding day (like the young lady mentioned in a for- 
mer paragraph), with this peculiarity — that she repeated everj'^- 
thing which she herself had said, but " regularly left intervals 
in her discourse corresponding to the periods when the other 
party was supposed to be speaking ; and she also left intervals 
between different conversations, shorter in reality, but corre- 
sponding in relative length to the intervals which liad, in fact, 
taken place." She repeated in her sleep nearly everything 
which she had uttered during the day, whether good or bad, 
but left blank spaces of time for everything that had been said 
to her by other persons. She was scarcely ever known to re- 
peat anything that she had read ; the muscular and audible act 
of speaking was the one thing that reproduced itself in this 
way. 

A curious case occurred at Yauxhall, London, in 1843, 
which is related by a recent authority : * " A servant in a respect- 

* Binns. 



SLEEP AND ITS MYSTERIES. 517 

able family got up in the middle of the night, cleaned the kit- 
chen, the knives and forks, and washed the dog. The latter, 
probably not relishing such copious ablution in the dark, made 
direct for the chamber of his mistress, awoke her, and, by some 
sagacious intimations, induced her to search for the servant, 
whom she forthwith conducted to bed without her being 
awake," 

" Well may sleep present us fictions, since our waking moments teem 
With sucli fanciful convictions as make life itself a dream ! 
Half our daylight faith's a fable, — sleep disports with phantoms too. 
Seeming, in their turn, as stable as the world we wake to view ! " 

Some find their wits much keener while fast asleep than 
when " wide awake." " Mankind," says a quaint writer, " are 
so generally indisposed to think, that such drowsy souls really 
make the world a vast dormitory. The heaven-appointed des- 
tiny under which they are placed seems to protect them fi-om 
reflection ; there is an opium sky stretched over all the world 
which continually rains soporifics." As this is the boasted age 
of progress, sleepers will probably be aroused by the din of the 
locomotive, and the world in its dotage at last begin to think. 
Undue indulgence of sleep may cheat us of much of our brief 
life ; but the listlessness of an undisciplined mind may accom- 
plish as great a wrong upon us, and with as wily an artifice. 

An admonitory paragraph from a recent homilist, and the 
reader may dream over our dissertation, if found to be suffi- 
ciently soporific : 

" The mere lapse of years is not life. To eat, drink, and 
sleep ; to be exposed to darkness and the light ; to pace around 
in the mill of habit, and turn the wheel of wealth ; to make 
reason our book-keeper, and turn thought into an implement 
of trade — this is not life. In all this but a poor fraction of the 
unconsciousness of humanity is awakened ; and the sanctities 



518 



SLEEP AND ITS JIYSTERIES. 



Still slumber wliicli make it most worth while to be. Knowl- 
edge, truth, love, beauty, goodness, faith, aloue can give vital- 
ity to the mechanism of existence ; the laugh of mirth which 
vibrates through the heart, the tears which freshen the dry 
wastes within, the music that brings childhood back, the prayer 
that calls the future near, the doubt which makes us meditate, 
the death wJiich startles us with mystery, the hardship which 
forces us to struggle, the anxiety that ends in trust — are the true 
nourishment that end in being." 

" Dreams do divide our being;' they become 
A portion of ourselves, as of our time, 
And look like heralds of eternity ; 
They pass like spirits of the past — they speak 
Like sibyls of the future ; they have power — 
The tyranny of pleasure, and of pain." 




^y 










A PUFF AT PAKTING. 

Not unfrequently the after-thought, that suggests the post 
script, contains the most important item of the whole communi- 
cation ; however this may prove in the present instance — our 
pen seems reluctant to resign its office, without a few words 
supplementary — a brief tete-d-tete with our excellent friends 
who have shared our literary repast. So, with permission, we 
will adjourn for a short season to our domestic divan, and 
regale ourselves with the fragrant aroma of that soothing seda- 
tive — the weed. Its magic power to cement good friendship 
and to foster good-feeling is admitted the world over, from 
the roving red men of the West, to the indolent Turk of the 



520 A PUFF AT PARTING. 

East; it cannot fail, therefore, to secure ours — a consummation 
devoutly to be wished. 

A great dignitary of the Church once remarked, that "happi- 
ness was no laughing matter." We agree with the opinion ; and 
as friendship and happiness are next of kin, we do not, of 
course, intend to trifle with so serious a subject. 

" A companion that feasts the company with wit and mirth, 
and leaves out tlie sin which is usually mixed with them, is 
the man," said worth}'^ Izaak Walton / who adds : " And let 
me tell you, good company and good discourse are the very 
sinews of virtue." We thank this genial old gentleman for de- 
fining our aim and position so well, since it leaves us nothing 
further to urge in the way of apology ; so now let us talk about 
the witching weed. 

Notwithstanding the fulminations of its foes. Tobacco — 
which may be said to be in almost everybody's mouth — can 
never fail to be a favorite resource and pastime of mankind. 
Yet popular as it is at present, the " pipe of peace " has been the 
occasion of much discord and disputation, in past times. In 
1623 the crusade against the weed was headed by the Pope 
him? elf, who thundered his anathema of excommunication 
against all smokers ; and in Turkey, even, smoking was a capital 
crime. In Russia the weed was forbidden to be used under 
severe penalties ; and in the Canton of Berne its prohibition was 
even incorporated with the Decalogue ! The " plant divine " 
has, indeed, passed through scenes of dire persecution, alike 
from Pagan and Christian powers: yet, notwithstanding all 
their opposition, although blackened by calumny, the pipes have 
not yet been put out. 

" O Plant divine, — potent plant ! 
Let others for the laurel-garland pant — 
Content with my rich meed, I'll sit me do\vn, 
Nor ask for fame, nor heroes' high renown." 



A PUFF AT PARTING. 321 

Tobacco has been styled "the anodyne of povea-ty," while 
the bowl of the pipe has been characterized as the " bowl that 
cheers, but not inebriates." A writer in the North British 
Review^ referring to the beneficial influence of the pipe, re- 
marks, that " much angry bitter feeling is puffed out and dis- 
sipated with the fumes of the tobacco. On the whole, there- 
fore, the pipe is not an offence, but a protection to woman. 
Among the sunbeams let into the cottage, not the least is the 
poor man's pipe." The pipe is also one great medium of fra- 
ternization ; it expands the heart with generous emotions and 
stimulates the mind to noble and earnest thoughts. The man 
who smoTies has been said to "think like a sage, and to act like 
a Samaritan ! " Even among the uncivilized, the Calumet is 
the accepted symbol of peace and good-will : let not the pipe, 
then, be blackened with reproach and aspersion. 

" Since life and the anxieties that share 
Our hope and trust, are smoke and dust, 
Give me the smoke and dust that banish care : 

The rolled leaf bring 
Which, from its ashes, phoenix-like, can spring — 
The fragrant leaf, whose magic balm 
Can, like Nepenthe, aU our sorrows charm." 

With the clubs of London in olden times, the tobacco-box 
was the accepted symbol of the brotherhood. "We have a 
glimpse, presented to us at the head of our chapter, of the 
jovial scene, in which the long clay pipes figure so conspicu- 
ously, and send forth such clouds of fragrant incense to genius 
and good fellowship. 

The history and mystery of smoking is a tlieme of imperish- 
able interest ; for although it is environed by a somewhat cloudy 
atmosphere, it nevertheless is associated with some of the best 
feelings of our nature, and the best specimens of humanity. 

" So you see the drift, sir, you take it, — you smoke ?" Fasci- 



522 A PUFF AT PARTING. 

nating, indeed, as are woman's ways and wiles, to lead us poor 
mortals captive ; the " witching weed " seems to possess quite 
as potent a charm over us. Bulwer Lytton thus compares 
these two magnetizing powers : " He who doth not smoke, 
hath either known no griefs, or ref useth himself the softest 
consolation next to that which comes from Heaven. ' What 
softer than woman?' whispers the young reader. Young 
reader ! woman teazes us, as well as consoles ! Woman makes 
half the sorrows she boasts the privilege to console. Woman 
consoles, it is true, while we are young and handsome ; when 
we are old and ugly, woman snubs and scolds us ! On the 
whole, then, woman in this scale, and the weed in that, Jupiter 
hang out thy balance and weigh them both ; and if thou give 
the preference to woman, all I can say is, the next time Juno 
ruffles thee, O Jupiter, try the weed ! " 

To be loyal to the weed, however, does not necessarily in- 
volve the repudiation of woman ; rather let ns do fitting hom- 
aare to the claims of both. 

Sir Walter Raleigh has the credit of having introduced 
tobacco into England in 1585 ; but some authorities claim the 
honor for Sir Francis Drake. Jean Nicot, the French ambas- 
sador at Portugal, sent some specimens of the herb as a present 
to Catherine de Medici. Its botanical name is derived from 
this incident ; and its popular name, tobacco, is, according to 
Humboldt, from the Haytien name for the pipe or instrument 
the natives used for smoking the herb. 

Besides the " Counterblast" of King James, there were some 
hundred other treatises,, and among them one by Sylvestre, in 
1641, so quaint that we give the title : " Tobacco battered, and 
the pipes shattered, about their ears, that idolize so base and 
barbarous a weed, or at least-wise overlove so loathsome a 
ranitie," etc. Another authority, Burton^ in his " Anatomic of 
Melancholic " designates it " The divine, rare, superexcellent 



A PUFF AT PARTING. 523 

tobacco, which goes far beyond all the panaceas, portable gold 
and philosopher's stone, — a sovereign remedy for all diseases," 
etc. We owe something, indeed, to those early defenders of the 
pipe, and the liberty of smoking which they have bequeathed 
to lis. 

" Let who -wHl rave, — we smokers know thy worth ; 

Our classic wits have sung tobacco's praise, 
And given to many a page of wisdom birth, 

Beneath thine argent clouds and ruby rays ! 
Full many a charm, my pipe, I've found in thee, — 
Thou healing balm, — thou mithridatic weed ! 
From foul aspersion not to set thee free, — 

Had been a black ingratitude indeed !" 

Among the illustrious fraternity of smokers we find a galaxy 
of great names, such as Sir Isaac Newton, Sir Henry Wotton, 
Izaak Walton, Napoleon, Johnson, Milton, and hosts of others 
whose names are on the scroll of fame. Dr. Parr, an octo- 
genarian, smoked, it is said, sometimes a score of pipes a 
day ! One day dining at a friend's house, he made signals to 
his host for a pipe. " I hope you will excuse me," interposed 
the lady of the house, " but I cannot permit smoking in my 
drawing-room." " Why not, madam ? " responded the discom- 
forted doctor; "I have smoked a pipe with my sovereign ! " 
" Notwithstanding that, sir, I never will allow my rooms to be 
defiled with the nauseous smell of tobacco," was the rejoinder. 
" Madam," — " Sir," — " Madam, you are," — quickly echoed 
through the apartments. " I hope, sir, you will not express any 
rudeness," said the inexorable lady, when the former, raising 
his voice to full concert pitch, cried out, " Madam, you are the 
greatest tohacco-stojypeT in all England ! " Charles Lamb was 
a confirmed smoker, yet he determined to give it up, and so he 
wrote his " Farewell to Tobacco." " I have had it in my head," 
he wrote to Wordsworth, " to write this poem these two years ; 



524 A PUFF AT PARTING. 

but tobacco stood in its own light when it gave me headaches 
that prevented my singing its praises." Dr. Parr, the twenty- 
pipes man, once asked Lamb how he acquired so prodigious a 
smoking power. " I have acquired it," he replied, " by toiling 
after it, as some men toil after virtue." Farr made the cele- 
brated Robert Hall a proselyte to the pipe. One day he 
surprised his friend enveloped with a cloud}'^ atmosphere, and 
exclaimed, " Ah ! I find you, again, at your old idol." " Yes," 
said Hall, " hurning it ! " 

" Than my homely, oblivious pipe, I find no greater solace," 
wrote a valetudinarian, " during my dark hours of afiiiction ! " 
What would become of the weary and the heavy-laden, the 
oppressed with toil — the mariner at sea, or the soldier on the 
field of conflict — were they denied the solace of the weed ? 
Prince Frederick William, of Prussia, it is said, founded a kind 
of College, at Berlin, for smoking and good fellowship. Apart 
from its positive enjoyment, the pipe or cigar is often an im- 
portant aid to our social intercourse ; for are there not often 
inextricable dilemmas and perplexing pauses in conversation 
which the parenthetical puff relieves ? 

There are many varieties of the smoking fraternity, some 
smoke mechanically, and from fixed habit, without much enjoy- 
ment of the pastime ; while others linger luxuriously over 
their weed, and surrender themselves to all its intoxicating 
fascination. These are they who exclaim. Eureka, to a choice 
Havana, and become oblivious to everything else. 

Of all classes of smokers the Turks are the most entitled to 
consideration and gratitude for the refinements they have 
blended with the use of the weed. The Turk seems most to 
catch its deep inspiration, as he reclines upon his velvet otto- 
man, and inhales the fragrant odors of the leaf, through his 
rose-scented chibook. He looks the very impersonation of 
luxurious indolence — he is most prodigal of his time in the 



A PUFF AT PARTING. 525 

ndulgence of a pastime which has indeed become a passion — 
Dut possibly he has nothing else to do. 

Thus much, then, pertaining to pipes and their patrons : a 
word or two, now, touching snuff-taking ; which took its rise 
during the reign of Louis XI Y,, when even ladies attached to 
the court of that monarch indulged in its use. Imagine the 
advanced minds of the fair sex — the belles ^' of the period " — 
snuffing — " up to snuff " ! For the rougher sex it may be all 
very well, and not to be sneezed at. Many an old-time notability 
indeed took snuff, and plenty of it Lamb pays tribute thus : 

' ' Roses, violets, are but toys 
For the smaller sort of boys, 
Or for greener damsels meant ; 
Snuff, thou'rt the only manly scent ! " 

In former times the tobacconists of England used to display 
their wit on their envelopes ; they also used signs on which 
they attempted the facetious. A tobacconist who lived on Tower 
hill, named Farr, put the following notice over his shop : ''^The 
best tobacco by Farr ! " A short time afterward appeared a 
rival, who opposed him, with ^^ Better tobacco than the best 
tobacco by Farr ! " 

Let this suffice, then, touching 

" That glorious weed. 
Dear to mankind, whate'er his race, his creed, 
Condition, color, dweUing, or degree ; 
From Zembla's snows to parched Arabia's sands. 
Loved by all lips, and common to all hands ! 
HaU, sole cosmopohte ! Tobacco, haU ! " 

Having thus reached the climax of our fragrant and volatile 
subject — the " plant divine " — that sweet, oblivious antidote to 
grief and care — we take our leave of it, with the conviction, 
that bewitching as is its aroma, yet, unlike our Salad, it all 
ends in smoke ! 



526 



A PUFF AT PARTING. 



True, the one is most fascinating to the olfactory nerve, but 
the other flatters and felicitates the palate. The one is ethe- 
real and impalpable ; the other substantial, real. The first is 
undoubtedly vei'j seductive and delicious ; but the latter Tnay 
stand the test that Homer is said to have claimed for true poetry 
— that, ten times repeated, it should still please. So, gentle 
critics, in applyiugthat test, wheresoever generosity may prompt, 
please to remember, that notes of admiration as well as kindly 
criticism will be strictly in order. Farewell. 







